


Nessarose

by ff_fan



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Identities, Bad ass Q, Dysfunctional Family, Family Reunions, Gay Sex, James isn't the most dangerous person, M/M, Mystery, Other, Protective James Bond, Things I'm avoiding saying, Transgender, Violence, references to cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2018-12-22 23:54:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11977752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ff_fan/pseuds/ff_fan
Summary: After James is pulled back into MI6. Mallory issues him a mission, to investigate the Quartermaster. Leading to long buried secrets being revealed. And when Eurus plays her hand, what will happen when a Double O is requested to go rescue Mycroft, Sherlock and John.





	1. Coo-Coo! Coo-Coo!

-National Gallery 2012-  
  
"They say, I can do more damage in my pyjamas, before my first cup of Earl Grey, than you could do in a year in the field."  
  
-Monaco 4 Years Later-  
  
James walked along the harbour front. Shifting the paper bag of groceries as he did so. The Monaco sun felt wonderful against his face.  He came to the pale pink coloured set of apartments that overlooked the yacht haven.  
  
Juggling the bag, James fished out his key for the large and heavy wooden door. The main door to the complex opened and he stepped onto the tiled foyer. James headed up the stairs and turned left. Shifting the bag more carefully, James unlocked the door to the flat.  
  
“I'm back!” James called, hearing the sound of the shower coming from behind the bedroom door. He sat the bag down on the counter that separated the kitchen from the open plan living room.  
  
Starting to pull items out, James noticed a ceramic figurine sitting on the counter.  He picked up the ceramic bird and examined it. It was grey in colouring with a long speckled tail. Absently he wondered when Madeleine got it. By the time James had finished putting away the shopping, his instincts were starting to tingle. There was no sound accompanying the shower.  
  
James headed to the rear of the large room and pushed open the door. There was a fresh cream coloured dress ready to be put on, laying on the large bed. Steam was coming from the slightly open bathroom door. James pushed the door open, hating he didn't have a gun. The white tiled bathroom was full of steam. It was clear no one was behind the curtain surrounding the claw footed bath.  
  
Looking around, James noticed writing on the mirror above the sink. He brushed his fingers through the red marks on the mirror, as his heart sank, feeling the thick a wet substance. Touching the substance to his tongue, he tasted copper. Blood. In blood, was written,  
_Coo Coo_  
   _Coo Coo_  
  
-London-  
  
“How could a dead man appear on every screen in the country?” The man at the head of the table demanded. The Prime Minister.  
  
Mallory sat back a bit. This was not an issue for MI6. The domestic and international intelligence services, were two separate branches again. MI6 being represented by Mallory as M. MI5 being championed by the older blond woman who was now Control.  
  
Mallory listened as Control discussed her in depth investigation.  
  
Then a man, who was sitting by himself, spoke up. “We still have no idea how the message got onto every screen in the country. We must issue a pardon to gain _freelance_ help.”  
  
Mallory barely looked at the tall waif like man. He was known to some, and mentioned by few, he was a man without title or official posting.  
   
Mallory, thankful for the spur of the moment talk with his quartermaster. The young man had not investigated the media hack but he did have a theory. It allowed Mallory to one-up his colleague, during this regular meeting between the intelligence branches and the Prime Minister. Clearing his throat, Mallory looked at Control. “Are you sure you don't know?”  
  
“M, you have information?” the Prime Minister said, jumping on M's words.  
   
“Not information, more of a theory for the course of the investigation. Given the modus operandi, the investigation should be along the ethos of unmasking a magician's illusion. For the most part, a legal course of action was probably taken. I would recommend looking at the major advertising companies. The billboard space and commercial slots may have simply been bought and paid for,”  
  
“The BBC does not air commercials.” The waif like man snapped, in growing annoyed embarrassment.  
  
“Patience, I was coming to that.” Mallory answered the man, then continued. “With the BBC we might find a criminal act. More likely a disgruntled employee who could change what was being transmitted, rather than hacking or something else. Always look for the simple explanation.”  
  
“WELL?” the Prime Minster blasted to the domestic intelligence personnel. Getting a stony faced look from the waif like man and the woman who ran MI5. “Get to it, NOW!”  
  
The meeting quickly ended by the leader of the country. The grey haired man stormed out.  
  
Mallory stood, more sedately than the Prime Minister. He looked to the others, “Good day, Ladies, Gentlemen.”  
  
Mallory headed out, further driving a wedge between domestic and external security services. Trying with all his might to make sure nothing like the Joint Security Service ever happened again.  
  
On Downing Street, Mallory had to pass the permanent contingent of press with cameras to get to his car. The moment he was inside, he could see the look on Tanner's face.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Bond is here. Madeleine Swann has been kidnapped. A message, written in her blood on a mirror said, 'Coo-Coo'. An ornament was also found, a cuckoo. Whereabouts of Miss Swann are unknown. Bond wants to see Blofeld.”  
  
“No!”  
  
“Is that wise, M? Bond could go off on his own.” Tanner warned. “We could do a supervised visit. Or have Bond in an observation room while Blofeld is questioned.”  
  
“The observation room idea has merit. I don't want those two in the same room. I'd prefer if Blofeld didn't even know Bond was there.”  
  
“I'll leave you to break the news to Bond, M.”  
  
Mallory answered with forced smile.  
  
The car pulled up alongside the tower of class. The Joint Security Services Building, now known as the Vauxhall Tower, was the new home for MI6. The two men stepped out of the car.  
  
The lift ride to the top of the tower was done in silence. Both men were able to see through the building and out the glass front of the tower, to where the old MI6 stood. Now a building site for luxury apartments. Mallory turned away from the view as they neared the floor for the Executive Branch.  
  
Arriving at the top most floor they exited the lift. Mallory was not overly keen on his office. But nearly being killed there and killing someone else wasn't a good enough excuse to refuse to use it. At least for the pen-pushers who truly decided such things.  
  
James paced irritable inside the office. Moneypenny watched the man through the glass wall. She was so distracted Mallory walking pass her made her jump. Pushing the door open, Mallory headed the irate man off.  
  
“Tanner is making the arrangements. There will be restrictions, Mr. Bond. The Inquisitor will conduct the interview with Blofeld. You will watch from an observation room.”  
  
James nodded, without saying a word. His anger held in check by years of experience. Tanner called him. Following the man out, James looked back giving a respectful, “M.”  
  
James was very quiet through the lift ride down to the lobby. Then through getting into the Land Rover beside Tanner, and through the entire journey. Even the on-the-go briefing Tanner gave was just a wash of noise to James.  
  
Showing the skill that kept him as the old M's Chief of Staff, Tanner had everything arranged well before he even mentioned something to Mallory. So there was no waiting around.  
  
HMP: Slade was an ominous Victorian style building made with large soot blacken slabs of stone. Despite its classical architecture, it was one of the most secure buildings in the country. Large iron gates led into a secure courtyard that was covered with wire mesh to prevent helicopter aided escape attempts.  
  
James hid his displeasure as he was led into the room with a large television mounted on the wall. The room was within the administration portion of the prison and not near the interrogation room.  
  
James wanted to rage. He was stuck far from Blofeld and not in an adjacent room with just a thin one way glass separating him from the man he wanted to turn into a pile of minced flesh.  
  
The TV switched from the solid blue image to showing the grey haired man with scared eye. 'I' an old whip like man, with a hooked nose started asking questions. Blofeld gave the man the run around, and played dumb. Yet his still seeing eye flicked to the camera and he smirked. James knew it was aimed at him.  
  
Blofeld mused, “Why should I talk to the mouthpiece, when I can hear the distant...coo-coo, coo-coo?”  
  
“Bloody useless!” James roared and stormed out. Tanner following him. James was lost for the first time. He had one lead and was now thinking how to get to Blofeld.  
  
Tanner said, “We could have Blofeld transferred to MI6 for a more in-depth interrogation.”  
  
James smiled, a barely perceived twitch of his cheek muscle. He could work with that.  
  
“Good idea, Tanner.” James said a little too calmly to be believable. Possibilities beginning to run through his head.  
  
“Well, we had better get back to MI6, to make the arrangements.” Tanner said. He formally thanked  the Prison Governor, and gave a warning the prison should expect a request to transfer Blofeld to MI6's custody.  
  
\--  
  
While the arrangements were being made, James decided to get the lay of the land, of the new MI6 building. With his prominent visitor badge attached to the breast pocket of his suit. James explored one level after another. Not sure what all the people were doing. Forming his plan.  
  
Grasping the arm of a passing woman he asked. “I'm looking for Q-Branch.”  
  
“Q-Branch Administration and operation support are on floor five.”  
  
James thanked the woman, and headed for the lift. Stabbing the button for the fifth floor, it was several moment before the glass doors opened. Despite his worry and anger, James smiled a bit. The floor was inhabited by oddballs. A woman, in white make up, with dark lipsticks and eye liner. She plodded passed James, like a petulant teenager.  
  
The pristine glass and stylish interior of the rest of the building had been given way to quirks of individuality in this department. From the big sign staying, 'This is just a clock!' with an arrow pointing to a bundle of dynamite with a digital clock, to someone who was using a mouse pad of a cartoon woman with the wrist cushion in the shape of large breasts.  
  
In the centre of this domain, the queen bee controlled his minions around him from a curved standing desk. Q. The boffin pulled a folder from his standing desk, then turned sharply and collided with James.  
  
Steadying the man, James looked into the hazel eyes behind the heavy framed glasses. “Careful Quartermaster.”  
  
“Oh, James?”  
  
James noticed the folder in the younger man's hands. 'Blofeld, E. S.' emblazoned amongst the 'Top Secret.' and other warnings. James cupped Q's hand and flicked open the folder.  
  
“You're . . . not . . . meant to see... this.” Q tripped over his words.  
  
James couldn't make head nor tails of the large columns of numbers at first glance.  
  
“Found anything interesting?” James purred, and sent a flirtatious smile to the younger man. He watched the pale cheeks turn rosy and the hazel eyes bashfully dart about.  
  
“ _No_.”  
  
A waver in the man's voice told James Q was lying through his teeth. “Come now, Q.” James purred, leaning closer to the man. “A life is at stake.”  
  
Q's shoulders slumped. He closed the file and opened it again, showing a different page. Subtly he put a thumb against one of the table rows.  


Name | Location | Known Association | Note  
---|---|---|---  
Kronsteen | Istanbul | Blofeld,E.S.; Mr White; Spectre | Suspected head of Spectre planning  
  
James felt a weight lifted from him, for the first time since Madeleine vanished. He had a lead coming from someone he trusted enough to follow it blindly. Nor would he have to assault MI6 to get to Blofeld now.  
  
Q gulped as James looked back at him. He knew what James was going to ask next. He nodded to a table in the distance, with several items ready to be assigned. James looked at the table and back to Q.  
  
“An operative was to be deployed to Istanbul to help a Double O. Helmsley shouldn't miss his back up. Not your preferred firearm but...” Q whispered and closed the folder. “I should get this to M.”  
  
As Q pulled away, James kept a lingering hand on the boffin. “Thanks, Q.”  
  
The younger man blushed again and ducked his head to hide the gesture. He then walked quickly out of the room. James waited and watched him go.  
  
Casually, James headed for the table Q had indicated. He found the small gun safe. Opening the box, he found a two-toned Vektor CP1. Despite the passing similarity in shape to his preferred Walther, James was not impressed. The gun had a bad reputation. James took it, along with the silencer and the other gear meant for the other operative.  
  
  
-Istanbul-  
  
James looked across the bay, to the circular building seeming to just come out of the water.  The home of one Russian exile, Kronsteen.  
  
Jumping into a boat, when the owner wasn't looking, James stood behind the wheel and pushed the throttle open. The enraged voice of the owner just a fading noise.  
  
James pulled out the gun as he approached the old building. He saw the guards patrolling the dock and the roof. He picked them off from a distance. Pulling alongside the dock, James didn't bother to tie up the boat. He jumped off and headed into the circular building. The boat slowly pulled away without him.  
  
James was a machine. He swept the building with the surgical perfection. Even the leader, Kronsteen, James didn't spend time on. A bullet to the head ended Kronsteen, while he sat with his back to the door ended him. James didn't know if these people weren't expecting an assault or if it was a set up, but they were woefully unprepared.  
  
The last room, on the top floor was locked. The moment James tried the door, Madeleine started shouting and swearing. He kicked the door in. James burst in, and found the blond woman tied to a chair. He was at her side in an instant. Blood seeping through a basic dressing on her forearm.  
  
“I'm here. I'll get us out,” he babbled to the terrified woman. He couldn't lift Madeleine, in case someone had survived. James got her up and with a firm hand on her uninjured arm pulled her behind him.  
  
Outside, the boat James had stolen was sailing in circles out in the bay. So he stole one of the boats tied up.  
  
Once back on the harbour side, James helped Madeleine out of the boat and was promptly slapped. The blond woman started screaming.  
  
“I'M OUT! I CAN'T LIVE LIKE THIS. NEVER LOOK FOR ME AGAIN!” Madeleine then walked off. James followed her and she slapped him again.  
  
“Please.” James called, keeping pace with the fleeing woman.  
  
“Never come near me again!” Madeleine spun on her heels. Their eyes met. James saw the utter hate she held for him. In that moment he knew there was no word or action that would ever be enough. She blamed him for destroying her peaceful life and in a way she was right. If he never went to that clinic, Blofeld wouldn't have had any reason to go for her.  
  
James just stood there, and watched the blond woman vanish into the crowd. Not noticing the black man coming up behind him.  
  
“Always a bitch, when you get your heart ripped out,” the stranger said.  
  
James had every intention of ignoring the guy and walking off when a hand landed on his shoulder. He swung for the stranger and missed by a mile. The stranger easily dodged and delivered a left jab to James' chin. The hit making him woozy and light headed. Another punch, this time to the gut and James couldn't breathe. A final punch to the cheek and James went down.  
  
\--  
  
With a groan James started to come to. Testing his arms and legs, he found they were immobile. It felt like he was tied to a chair.  
  
Soft and slightly purring, “Back with us, Mr Bond?”  
  
James moaned and opened his eyes. The light and heat meaning he was still in Turkey. The pacing blur slowly focused into Mallory.  
  
“Think so.” James said, finally answering the man. Grateful it wasn't Spectre he as waking up to.  
  
“I have no idea how you learned of this place, or how you got here. BUT A SHOOT OUT IN THE MIDDLE IF ISTANBUL IS UNACCEPTABLE. You are not a Double O, _Mister_ Bond.”  
  
“That could be altered.” James said without emotion.  
  
Mallory frowned as he looked at the man secured to the chair. Seeing something very wrong, he asked what happened and James told him about Madeleine leaving.  
  
With a bit more sympathy, Mallory pulled out another chair to sit in front of James. “You are prepared to come back?”  
  
James nodded, solemnly. “It appears some are not suited for retirement.”  
  
“Very well, Mr. Bond. Assuming you pass your assessments, you'll be welcomed back. I may even have an assignment for you.”  
  
“Oh goody, M.”


	2. New Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all the commenters and those who left kudos. Read and enjoy.

Well, he was back. The service calling him like a mistress in an unhappy marriage. Madeline was gone. Hopefully safer now James wasn't in the picture.  
  
Arriving at the outer office of M, Eve gave him a look that was a little put out. “He's expecting you, Bond.”  
  
“Is that hostility I hear in your voice, Ms Moneypenny?” James asked, perching on the woman's desk.  
  
“Too bloody right!” Eve snapped hitting the thigh on her desk. “You couldn't have waited one more day? Q's going to be insufferable. The little bastard got your return date right. And we lost the bet.”  
  
James put on a look of hurt. “That's all I am to you, a wager?”  
  
“Oh, don't give me that look, it doesn't work. And you can buy us a drink, tonight at Axe.”  
  
“If I'm interrupting, I can wait.” M's voice said, coming from the speaker on Eve's phone.  
  
James stood and pushed open the door to M's office. The man's watery grey eyes lifted. James interpreting the look. “You to, M? Lost the bet?”  
  
“Yes, Bond. But I bet you would settle down. Marriage or baby were the agreed upon points where I could claim victory.” Mallory then started going through the assessments James Bond had gone through, in order to return to MI6.  
  
“So why is Eve even more annoyed than everyone else?” James asked while Mallory was perusing the documents.  
  
“Q. Do you remember that game show, where you had to guess the price of something to win it. Well if Q said the prize was fifty pounds, twenty-three pence. The other contestants would be arguing who could say the price just over or the price just under Q's guess. But the truth is, Q will be spot on.”  
  
“Good at guessing?”  
  
Mallory leaned back, the review was a waste of time anyway. The only news was James wasn't getting his old number back. That position had been filled. No, if James wanted to return it would have to be as 009.  
  
Scrubbing his face, Mallory mused, “How long have you known Q, a few years now? And you haven't figured it out yet?”  
  
While James was distracted by being mildly insulted. Mallory said, “Everything seems in order Bond. Welcome aboard, Double O Nine.”  
  
“Okay, you told me I'm not getting my number back. What was the dig about Q?”  
  
Mallory was impressed, he thought James would take the change of number more petulantly. Like a child who had their favourite toy given away.  
  
“Well Bond, on the way to a meeting, I took a chance and I asked Q about a criminal who had broadcast a message over all mass media. Almost every screen in the country. Q's assumption was right, very right with no investigation conducted. Afterwards I was a little uncomfortable. So I started looking into Q's past.” Mallory then seemed to jump topic. “You knew my predecessor as well as any. Did you ever see her use any form of technology? I'm guessing, no. So, how did you get a video of her then?”  
  
James shrugged. Mallory pushed himself out of his chair. He swung out the oil reproduction of The Fighting Temeraire. Opening the safe embedded into the wall, Mallory pulled out and dropped one of the documents in front of James.  
  
The front of the manila folder, bursting at the seams, emblazoned with 'EYES ONLY', 'OFFICIAL SECRET', 'MI6: TIER 1 PERSONNEL ONLY' and more warnings all in red.  
  
James felt he was going to be shot for just looking at the folder, let alone what was inside.  
  
Mallory said, “During the affair with Greene, M didn't know who she could turn to. Tanner found a rather strange, young, man. Q. He was defrauding the Student Loans Company. He had applied for seven different loans, under seven names and was enrolled on seven different courses, simultaneously. He was recruited, rather quickly.”  
  
James was flipping through the file. There was analyses of everything surrounding Le Chiffre, and then Greene. An early deduction that indicated James to be the true target. Q had even written,  
  
'Until formal identification of the hypothesised organisation Special Executive for Counter-intelligence, Terrorism, Revenge and Extortions behind Le Chiffre and Dominic Greene is specified, the acronym SPECTRE shall be used.'  
  
Then came a hypothesis laid out as a timeline. If the dates were right, Q wrote this report over a year before the hard drive was stolen by Patrice. It had the full time frame of events, listing an attack on M would be the next move, to alienate and deliver a bitter blow to James. Everything around Raoul Silva was laid out. Q was off by three days. And it explained why Moneypenny had been there, Q had chosen her specifically.  
  
Q even described Eve as being too easily swayed by an authority figure, and how under pressure her marksmanship scores dropped. Q and M wanted Eve to shoot James and there was an MI6 surveillance team in place to watch everything for them. There was even a spreadsheet, where James had been given a 51.756% chance of survival. Q even highlighted where James would wash up, where he did wash up. As Q predicted, the MI6 surveillance team spotted a Spectre agent finding James before the organisation moved onto the next stage of the plan and bombed MI6 to draw him back in.  
  
James was breathing heavily. Here was everything. One of the worst times in his life and Q had it all written out a year before any of it actually happened. The last page had today's date, with a ± of 1 day, of James' return and a recommendation that 007 be unassigned until that time.  
  
“Who the hell is Q?” James said and got a cat that ate the cannery look from M.  
  
“That if your job, 009. I want you to find out. For appearance, you will go on other missions, but this is your priority. Q seems to know too much, without adequately explaining himself. If he is working for someone else, it will be your job to put him down. There will be no official record of this mission, 009. I cannot afford Q getting wind of it. I can't have a traitor this close, not after everything that has happened.”  
  
“M, the old M. She trusted him. Acted on his advice.” James said.  
  
“That is the only reason why he hasn't been arrested already, 009.”  
  
With his mission assigned, James stood. Before pulling the door open James made sure the revelations about Q were buried so deep there would not be a hint of them. After stepping out of M’s office, James again perched on Eve's desk.  
  
“So is that drink just us or are there others? I'd like to catch up with Tanner and Q.”  
  
Eve nodded, “They'll be there.”  
  
Deciding to start the investigation, James gave a goodbye to Eve. He moved through the open office and down the sweeping bridge to the main part of E-Branch. James saw the office of the man he was looking for. James knocked on Tanner's door and entered.  
  
Inside, Tanner was doing whatever a Chief Of Staff does and looked busy doing it. A combination of dishevelled and harassed.  
  
Uninvited, James sat down. “I was wondering about Q. You recruited him?”  
  
That got Tanner's attention. He sat back and looked at the newly reappointed Double O.  
  
“I take it M has decided to look into Q. Well I can't add much. Mitchell had just tried to shoot M, you were pushing political friends of the Home Secretary off roofs. I was ordered to recruit someone from outside the service and establishment to go through the information we were gathering.” Tanner paused for a moment, remembering.  
“I had big trouble. People were connected, sharing common schools, universities, and old boys clubs, whatever. So I started looking at good but not prestigious universities. I found plenty of hopefuls. Good, really talented students studying political theory, media studies (the proper media studies, not just watching films all day), computer science, psychology... a raft of useful disciplines.”  
  
Tanner looked uncomfortable, rather haunted. “I was just looking at the best. But a lecturer recommended Q as someone skilled who wasn't pushing themselves. He was on a computer science course. Third highest overall scores for his class.”  
Tanner continued. “During a comparison of Student IDs, the facial recognition system flagged him being on a Political Studies course. Again third highest marks on the course. Then on a Biochemistry, pharmacology... Q had chosen Edinburgh so he could attend Harriet Watt, Napier, Edinburgh University's Law, and Medical school. In all seven courses he was on, he was exactly the third best student.”  
  
“Perfectly middle of the road?” James mused, Q not drawing attention to himself by not being good or bad. James noticed how Tanner was gazing at the desk in front of him, like it was showing some horror.  
  
“James.” Tanner whispered, as if afraid to speak too loudly. “Do you hear Q? When alone, just words he has used. Haunting. Like they were prophetic or something? Like he knows what will happen.”  
  
“No.” James said, then he remembered. One phrase that stayed with him. “Yes.’A grand old warship, ignominiously hauled away for scrap.' I thought he was talking about me, then about M, then as I saw the demolition crew preparing to bring down Vauxhall Cross. I heard his voice in my ear again, each time.”  
  
Tanner gave an agreeing nod, without looking to James. “I tried to interview him, but Q refused. He slipped away, from the best surveillance teams we had. He vanished for nearly a week. Then pitched up on our doorstep. He demanded to negotiate with M herself. They had a 10 minute meeting, then five days later he was hired. He only ever reported to M.”  
  
Tanner finally looked up and James thought he saw fear in the other man's eyes.  
  
Tanner said, “No one knows this. There are no records of what I'm about to say. Vesper's boyfriend. Q wanted, and M agreed. Q was the one to interrogate him. While M and I watched. Q didn't touch the man, they only talked softly and quietly so the words wouldn't carry. It was rather civil and pleasant really. But I think, Bond, it would have been more humane for you to have given him a clean death. He's in a hospital now, screaming he can hear Q's voice crawling inside his scull like an insect. He tried to literally crack his head open to let Q's voice out.”  
  
“But!” Tanner said shaking off the mood, and forced a weak smile. “Like always, these thought only exist in Q's absence. Formed from many encounters and discussions. In his presence, Q is...Q.”  
  
“The harmless, bumbling, boffin?”  
  
Tanner nodded.  
  
When James stood and was about to pull the door open, Tanner said, “Is it bad of me to hope there is potential kill order on Q, and that you will find something sufficient for the trigger to be pulled?”  
  
“Fear does that. From the time we started off as a single celled organisms, humans have been honed over an unimaginable amount of time. In short Tanner, I believe in intuition, as our brain's way of processing details we are not consciously aware of.”  
  
James stopped a moment. Looking back to Tanner, “Was MI6 tracking Kronsteen?”  
  
Tanner shook his head. “We only found him because you hot-footed it to Istanbul, and we followed.”  
  
James left. Q had given him the information. In a way James wouldn't suspect. An unease matching Mallory's was growing in James.  
  
\--  
  
Axe, was far more trendy and cheep looking than James liked. In truth, he liked his pubs dark, low ceilinged and rustic.  
  
The woman at the podium by the door gave a tight smile, sighing out, “Welcome to Aegat.”  
  
“I think you pronounce that, Axe.” James said with his best charming smile. Hating the trendy places that were so far up their own arses it wasn't even funny. “Never mind. I see my friends.”  
  
James crossed the room, avoiding the banker crowd competing to be the one who earned the most or got the biggest commission. Then the PR group, talking like an adverts actually meant anything. Then the salesmen, talking about getting the best client. This was the worst aspect of London to James, too much money with no substance.  
  
Sitting at the booth, James greeted Tanner, Eve and Q. Trying to catch the eye of a waitress, she actively avoided James after the Axe remark. So he snapped his fingers, able to make the noise rather loud and draw a lot of attention to himself.  
  
“Really James?” Q tutted.  
  
“They started it. Aegat! Arse more like.”  
  
“God, James. You don't half moan like an old man.” Eve teased. Q shook his head, with a half-smile, reluctantly amused.  
  
After a few drinks. They moved on, helped by James being a bit obnoxious towards the pretentious staff.  
  
The group stumbled into the drizzle. James caught the swaying Q. The little boffin gave a lopsided smile as James righted him. With a secure arm around the smaller man's waist, the group headed to a pub in more of James' style.  
  
They grabbed a table, as Tanner got in the first round. The dark, high ceiling room was loud but big enough that the customers weren't bumping into each other.  
  
Eve took her cocktail, while the three men stuck to pints. James enjoyed his Miller, far more than the craft crap the last place served.  
  
“Oo! Oo! James! Play me!” Q called pushing to his feet. James followed the boffin who was heading for the freed up dartboard.  
  
Picking up the complementary darts, James teased, “You really want to compete against me?”  
  
Q poked the blond in his nicely muscled chest. “You, Mister Double O Nine are not as good as you think. 501 up.” Q then took the three darts with green flights from James' grasp. James keeping the ones with the red fins on the end.  
  
James watched the other man turn sharply, give an inebriated waver and throw his darts in quick succession. Getting a bull and two triple-twenty. James got a quick smirk before the man staggered to go get his darts and subtract his score from the initial 501.  
  
James took his turn. In the end, Q reached zero first, to win. James could just feel the lopsided smile the other man was sending him. Despite his plan on ignoring it, James looked to Q, letting out a small laugh at the adorable sight. Q's hair was even wilder, the boffin having scratched and run his fingers through it constantly. The glasses has slipped down at the tip of the man's nose. Giving a constant waver while he stood.  
  
James looked around the pub. Eve was chatting up some blond guy. Tanner had left a while ago. “Come on Quartermaster. I'll take you home.”  
  
James got another poke in his chest by the adorably drunk man. “I am not easy, Mr Double O Nine.”  
  
“Would never even consider it.” James teased and wound a steadying arm around the slim waist. He gave a wave to Eve so she knew they were going.  
  
He bundled Q into the back of the black cab. Q slurred out an address in Chelsea. When the cab pulled to a stop, James was rather suspicious. He expected a block of flats or a converted house, perhaps a small terrace house, or even at a push a semi detached. Not what looked like a large fully detached Victorian sitting in ample grounds.  
  
Q trying to work the handle broke James out of his musing. Quickly he paid the fair and got Q out. Q stumbled in a zig-zag line towards the low gate and opened it. Seeing Q stagger wildly off the path, through a flowerbed and onto the lawn. James decided to go help the wayward boffin.  
  
Getting Q back on track, with a secure arm around the younger man. James led them up the path. The house loomed in the middle of the grounds. The front door to the house was on the left hand side of the front. It was under a high peaked roof. The rest of the house stretched out to the right of the front door, two stories high, with rounded bay windows.  
  
At the old heavy wooden door, Q leaned heavily against the solid mass of the blond, while he rifled through his satchel.  
  
“Aha!”  
  
Triumphantly, Q came up with a set of keys. The big black one went into the old wrought-iron lock and with a solid clunk it was unlocked. James opened the door into the dark wooden interior of the house. The staircase was ahead, with the doors to a drawing room on the right. The whole house appearing to stretch off to the right.  
  
The clunking of the heavy lock, made James look to Q as the younger man marshalled his mental faculties to lock the door and lift the satchel's strap over his head.  
  
“What if I want to leave?” James asked.  
  
With on outstretched hand planted on the door, but not enough to stop his swaying. Q slurred, “You sold your flat. You brought nothing with you. So...so...so...” Q trailed off, forgetting where he was going with his speech. “OH! Yes, I remember. So, I... I made up a room.”  
  
“Quartermaster, are you trying to seduce me?”  
  
“The Graduate (1967). Starring Dustin Hoffman and...”  
  
“I know.” James teased. “Quite the little encyclopaedia.”  
  
Q nodded and staggered towards the stairs. He followed the wall, so he could keep himself propped up against it.  
  
“Q.” James called. While Q was deciding if he should walk or crawl up the stairs, James asked, “How did you know today was going to be my official return date?”  
  
The hazel eyes focused with unnatural clarity for the barest of moments. Even the man's wavering stilled. As fast as it happened it stopped. Q going back to his drunken self.  
  
“One... fact. Obb-Obberer-houser IS obsessed with YOU.” Q's speech full of gaps and going soft or loud at random points. “Hold that one deduction true and everything else falls into place. Someone like Obberer, Ober, blo HIM will never face trial. So the only way he will get out is if someone breaks him out. If he got you to get him out. You would have been declared a threat and a kill order issued against you. Only Swann was enough of a motivation for you to bust Oberhauser out of prison. I allotted three months to this plan. Then a week for whatever was to happen, happen. Assuming you agree to rejoin MI6 within the fourth month. The assessment time will complete no earlier than two months after. So M would see you on the first Monday of the following month. Today...Yesterday!”  
  
It took a lot of concentration for James to follow the drunk man's slurring words. But everything seemed so reasonable and understandable once explained.  
  
James again came up to the lean man and gave a supporting arm, helping Q up the stairs. At the top Q waved to a room, saying James could use it.  
  
James helped Q into his bedroom. The boffin sat down on the bed and half-heartedly tugged at his cardigan. James helped the man out of his outer clothes. Then swung up Q's bare feet into the bed and covered him with the duvet. The boffin went out like a light and snoring loudly.  
  
James entered the neighbouring room. The bay window looked out over the large front garden. He fell into the bed, fully clothed, thinking about everything. That file with a timeline reaching to this very day. Wondering if Q was just very good or if there was something up. M, his M, she would never allow a threat to exist and by the sounds of it she and Q had been hand 'n glove over the whole Spectre issue.  
  
James fell asleep. The last lucid thought being Eve, Tanner and Q pitching up at work tomorrow with blistering hangovers.  
  
A knocking woke James. Opening bleary eyes, refusing to admit the thumping in his head was a hangover, James sat up. Seeing a washed and sort of dressed Q, standing in long dressing gown and holding a silvery grey cat.  
  
James groaned and rolled out of bed and onto his feet. Q nodded to a door on the far side of the room, then turned and headed off.  
  
James found a rather old fashioned tiled bathroom where Q indicated. He cleaned up a bit before headed downstairs. Q had been right, all James had with him was a small holdall in a hotel room several miles away.  
  
Coming down the stairs, the room James thought to be a drawing room was more of a library. Books and strange items lined the shelves. The only seating was old dainty French style furniture arranged in front of a large fireplace. A huge grand piano as well as violins, cellos and even a big harp filled most of the far end of the room.  
  
Then next room along was a kitchen/dining room. James' stomach growled at the smell of salty greasy, and lovely bacon. Stepping into the room, he felt something curl around his legs. This time a cream long haired cat rubbed against him.  
  
Looking far too good and un-hungover was Q. He lifted an enamel coffee peculator and poured out a cup for James, while still working the frying pan. There was a big Aga in the old fireplace, but Q worked at a gas hob set into the island.  
  
James sat at the dark wooden table. Forcing himself not to groan again. Q was at his side in moments, laying a plate in front of him. Two sandwiches, made from square bread cut perfectly on the diagonal. “Life saver.”  
  
“I am.” Q agreed. He headed round the breakfast bar to get his own meal. Q sat across from James, with only a single sandwich on his plate. He lifted a fabric dome in the middle of the table to expose a china teapot and poured out his earl Grey.  
  
“You look unacceptably chipper.” James said. Then bit into the first sandwich, feeling the runny yolk of the fried egg dribble down his chin.  
  
“That's because I'm younger and bounce back faster.” Q teased.  
  
“Q, the offer you made...”  
  
“I'd like the company. It's a little lonely with just the cats.” He then whispered as if telling a great secret. “I'm a little concerned I'll become a crazy cat lady.”  
  
James chuckled a bit. “Thanks. Digs?”  
  
Q shook his head. He pushed away his empty plate and sat back, while cradling the warm cup.  
  
“Come on, you said you had a mortgage.” James teased.  
  
“I may have exaggerated. Between you and me, I'm not short of a pound or two.” Q teased. “I have some of my father's old clothes or a few things my ex left behind, if you want.”  
  
James smelled the white shirt he was wearing. He gave a nod and a thanks.  
  
The two then headed upstairs. Where Q open the door to an empty bedroom. He went to the wardrobe and pulled it open. He told James to help himself.  
  
Q went to go get ready while James perused the wardrobe. He pulled out a few items. There was a mix of sizes. Some taller and broader than James. Another would be for someone a little leaner but still taller than James. Settling on a shirt and suit that would do.  
  
Washed and dressed, James was wondering how to get his stuff from Monaco to here, while coming down the stairs. Q was at the back door, dropping one cat and making sure it didn't dart back in. Then went to hunt down the other. When Q put out the long haired cat he locked the door.  
  
James had been looking around the library when something caught his attention and he wondered why it was there. He wiped his finger along the low window ledge, then inspected the black dust that came away. Then did the same on the piano, but could tell it was spotless by the gloss shine it had.  
  
“Q, why is it so dusty?”  
  
Q shrugged. “Don't have time to clean properly.”  
  
James didn't buy the excuse. The lines of dust were too... James wasn't sure. They were just too something.  
  
The commute was a rather novel experience for the Double O. He didn't like the tube, far too many people pressing against him. His instincts were almost wild by the time they got to Vauxhall.  
  
In the lobby of the new building, Q stopped them. “Double O Nine, would you like me to make arrangements for your belongings to be brought back?”  
  
“Very considerate, Quartermaster. Thank you.”  
  
On the ride up. Q gave a goodbye and stepped off on the fifth floor. James continued up to E-Branch. The door opening onto a large communal space. James headed left, and along a curving bridge that circled to the front of the building. A rather silly, and the only route to get to the office at the top of the building.  
  
“Head bothering you, Ms Moneypenny?”  
  
Eve lifted her head from her hand and sent a bloodshot eyed glare to James. Her voice rather croaky as she said, “You can go in.”  
  
Mallory looked up as his office door opened with a hiss. He invited his guest to sit with a wave of his hand. “Am I to expect the Quartermaster is in a similar state to Ms Moneypenny.”  
  
“I would have thought so, M, but no. He can handle his drink.” James answered, while taking a seat. “About Q. He offered me a place to stay and I have taken him up on it.”  
  
“Good, oh very good Double O Nine! Yes I like that.” Mallory said. “Will you be able to stay there long?”  
  
James shrugged. “He definitely has a crush which I can exploit. He also seems a little lonely.”  
  
“Very well, Double O Nine. I leave the investigation in your hands.”  
  
James stood, about to leave he stopped. “Do we have a name for Q?”  
  
Mallory shook his head. “My predecessor gave him the cover name Daniel Holt. Nothing before that.”  
  
“Have you made enquiries about his house? It's rather strange. Even if he could afford it, it's not the type a young man would go for. I would suspect he inherited it.”  
  
Mallory made a note, on a piece of paper, to have the house checked out. He reminded, “Remember Bond, no electronic records. Never discuss this over a phone, text, e-mail. Never in sight of a camera or microphone.”  
  
“M.” James said and headed out. Not sure if it wasn't Mallory that might have the problem.  
  
“Wakie-wakie.” James whispered, passing Eve's desk. The woman jerking awake. James then asked about the Double O offices and was told the floor directly below.  
  
James travel to the floor directly below the E-Branch floor. The doors opened onto a fairly empty place. To the right was areas of offices, with a mix of clear and frosted glass walls. The left was completely obscured by a wall of frosted glass. James headed to the left, intending to look around.  
  
James waved his brand new ID to enter the obscured area. Finding a well-equipped gym. Along with the changing facilities, saunas and steam rooms and beyond them a shooting range.  
  
Suitably impressed with the on-site facilities, James headed out of the training area. Entering the office area, a familiar face assaulted him. An older woman with white beehive hair, wearing horn rimmed glasses. Her face had a permanent downward droop at the corners of her mouth. She was the shared secretary for the nine Double O’s.  
  
“Mrs Ponsonby.” James greeted, ducking his head as he passed the evil dragon.  
  
Nine further desks. All large oak ones, with big green leather wing-back chairs behind, surrounded the room. Starting on the far left, the plaque on the front had a simple '001' pointed outwards.  
  
James cast his eyes over the room. Then landed on the black man sitting at the desk with '007' pointing outwards. James nodded to the man he met in Istanbul. Who now held the designation James once did.  
  
Talking his seat at the last desk. At least he was behind Mrs Ponsonby, so she couldn't catch him doing anything. Well not without looking at him directly.  
  
While he was settling in. His desk phone rang. Eve immediately saying, “Report to M's office, Double O Nine.”  
  
Within the hour, James had been assigned his first official mission as Double O Nine. After a trip to Q-Branch, he was on his way to Heathrow to catch a plane to Kenya, where his target was to be big game hunting.


	3. Back Home

James sat in Mallory's office. The other man going through the rather thin after action report. Well there was little to report. As far as Double O missions go, the one to Kenya was a cakewalk.  
  
“A successful end to your first official mission, Double O Nine.” Mallory said, closing the file. James was then given leave to go.  
  
James nodded to Eve on the way passed her desk. He headed for Q-Branch.  
  
When James stepped out onto the open plan floor, he watched the boffin. Q stood, with his hands on his hips. Something started to niggle at the back of James' brain. That usually meant something wasn't right before he could identify it.  
  
“Ah, James.” Q called without looking back. “Your stuff arrived yesterday. Your keys are in my desk. The Aston is in your space.”  
  
James was given a nod towards a normal desk, one of the many that surrounded Q's workstation. James went over and found the keys where the boffin said they would be. Two sets, one for his car the other he assumed for the house.  
  
“Any code for an alarm or anything?” James asked, coming closer to Q's workstation again.  
  
The boffin shook his head. “Sometimes the front door swells with the rain. A firm shove sorts it. If you leave, make sure the cats are outside.”  
  
“Will do.” James started to head out. Calling over his shoulder, “I said we'd meet Eve for drinks.”  
  
“Has she got a new boyfriend yet?”  
  
“Think so. Patrick or something.” James called before stepping into the lift.  
  
\--  
  
James pulled into the narrow driveway, leading up to the sandstone house. The stone still quite dark from the soot and smoke that used to be normal in London’s air.  
  
Stepping into the shaded garden, with tall trees that obscured much of city and light from the house. James didn't need to shove the front door open. Instead, it made a rather loud squeal though.   
  
Heading upstairs, James found the room given over to him. Like the rest of the house, very dark wood seemed to be everywhere. From the carved furniture and wall panelling, to the floorboards which had lightened a bit over the years. Much of the floor space had unopened moving boxes. He spent his afternoon going through them.  
  
Standing back, he looked at the built-in wardrobe now full of his clothes. The bathroom had his toiletries stored on the shelves. He put his spare gun in the night-stand drawer, with the magazine beside it, so the weapon could be prepared quickly while not keeping it loaded. Another went into the drawer of the dressing table.  
  
James gave a last look over the room he had now officially moved into. Then decided to explore the new house he would be living in. As he walked around he noticed the floor had a central path of with a high gloss shine while at the edges there was a fine layer of dust. Occasionally he saw a paw print void in the dust.  
  
In the down stairs hall James opened a door at random, he began to snoop. The door led to a cupboard. The shelves were wedged tight with magazines, papers, manuscripts and all sorts. Backing out, James saw the footprint he had made in the line of dust across the threshold.  
  
“So that's what you're up to, Quartermaster.”  
  
James closed the door and moved on.  
  
At a room, coming off the lounge, James pushed the door wide. Then he took a large step to clear the boarder of dust without disturbing it. The room was a small study. James glanced around and was surprised to see a beige CRT monitor and a tower base unit. It seemed out of place give Q’s expertise with computers and technology.  
  
'Hell, everything here is weird.' James thought.  
  
On the way out of the lounge, James stopped at the grand piano, to fold up the dust cover of the keyboard. He drew his finger along the line of white keys, getting a gentle progression of low to high notes.  
  
One thing was clear. Either there was nothing to find in the house, or Q was very foolish in inviting James to stay. And the one thing James didn't believe, Q was a foolish person.  
  
\--  
  
When Q arrived home, his two cats wound themselves around his legs. He was welcomed with the smell of something cooking. A radio played soft music, distorted by the sound of James moving about the kitchen  
  
Taking off his coat and satchel, Q noticed the door beside the coat hooks, or more precisely the disturbed dust in front of it. Just before the kitchen door, another disturbed patch of dust. A 'D' shaped mark, right in front of an oil painting. Deducing James had stood right in front of the picture while inspecting it closely.  
  
Q went into the lounge. More scuffs in front of the shelves, from where James had looked at books. Track marks in front of some books, from them being taken off the shelf. Q only needed to read the books once, then never touch them again. The piano had a fingerprint upon the varnish dust cover. Q was sure if he pressed the keys, the tension in the strings would have changed. Even after being pressed just once, Q could hear the difference in the note played. The door to his study had an unbroken line of dust in front of it.  
  
On a hunch Q opened the study door. The floor was undisturbed. But on the keyboard of his first computer, a cufflink sat. James was playing with him.  
  
Entering the kitchen, Q noticed Bond was casually wearing a convenient tea-towel over his shoulder while he cooked, to protect his shirt and wipe his hands. One sleeve rolled up to reveal a tanned forearm.   
  
“You dropped something, James.”  
  
The blond turned and held out his arm. The cuff hanging open. “I'm not too thrilled about your security measures, Quartermaster.”  
  
Q closed the man's shirt cuff and threaded the cufflink through the eyelets. “Dust is one of the hardest things to repair once disturbed. The precise mix is also hard to emulate, so someone couldn't just bring in some pre-prepared dust and sprinkle it down.”  
  
James gave a languid shrug. Q added, “Wasn't there an old spy trick of licking a single hair and placing it over a seam of a drawer or door. If it was disturbed someone had been rifling around.”  
  
“I suppose.” James inspected the returned cufflink. He thanked Q and retuned his attention to the hob. “So are you expecting burglars?”  
  
“Expecting? No. Preparing for? Yes.” Q went to a low cupboard to get the cat food. After feeding the cats, Q laid the table.  
  
Finishing the cooking, James brought the two plates over. While they ate, James sent subtle glances to the man across from him. Q was not quite the boffin he usually was. It was just how Q spoke, or even how he used the knife and fork. James had seen surgeons with less skilled fingers. No, Q was not bumbling.  
  
\--  
  
The three stood around a high table. Eve perched her elbow on her side and held her cocktail glass out, in a picture of nonchalance. She talked away, while her eyes scanned the room.  
  
James leaned in close to Q. Whispering into the shell of his ear, “Who's she talking about?”  
  
“Ryan. She met him the night we celebrated. The love of her live until four days ago.”  
  
“Two weeks. She moves quickly.” James whispered back.  
  
James got an elbow to the stomach in warning. He shut up just in time for Eve to look back at them. James plastered on an innocent smile.  
  
Q nodded to a guy, with dark slightly curly hair and rather tall. “He looks good.”  
  
“Not my type. But him...” Eve put her glass down and headed towards a blond man.  
  
“Like a nature documentary.” James mused then turned his voice into a posh, husky whisper. “Here we see the predator stalking her prey. First separating the desired kill from the herd.”  
  
Eve slipped between the blond man and his friend. Looking up into the taller man's blue eyes. She pressed into his personal space, so much he was backing up.  
  
“She'll be in love tomorrow.” Q speculated. “By the time she leaves work she will be practising signing her name with his surname. She'll be thinking of the future for about two days then something will shatter her rose tinted glasses. He'll fart or burp, leave his pants on the floor and she'll dump him.”  
  
James looked into the hazel eyes, behind the glinting glasses. “So, Quartermaster. Is it safe to go home or...”  
  
“I'd like that.” Q interrupted.  
  
A taxi got them home. The last they saw of Eve she had completely isolated the poor sod she was after.  
  
James sank into a rather hard wooden chair. The silk cushion panel at his back and the cushion under his arse doing little to take the hardness from it. The classic French style furniture was very uncomfortable.  
  
Q came into the room, holding a silver tray. He put it down. James' eyes drawn to a slightly flawed, handmade, whisky bottle without label. Half full of something rich and very dark. Q, himself, was having a red wine.  
  
As Q handed James the tumbler, the smell hit him, even at arms length. Something old, smooth and so warming. The strongest note being a peaty flavour. Then something rich, like a Christmas cake. Taking the first sip of the whisky, James sighed and slouched a bit, the chair no longer a thought.  
  
Q took the settee. He sat in the corner with legs outstretched, and looked at James. The Russian Blue cat jumped into his lap and curled up. Absently, Q started to scratch the cat's neck and head. He watched James slide further down in the chair and the long haired cat jump up and sit on the man's chest.  
  
James just looked at the ice blue eyes, staring out at him from the puffball like face. “What's his name?”  
  
“The wanted poster said her name was Jasmine.”  
  
James pushed the small head out the way a bit. So he could look at the man beyond the cat. “Wanted poster?”  
  
“Officially Jasmine lives at the house four doors down. But cats are sensitive to change. They had a baby so she left. Same for Bastion here.” Q said and scratched the Russian Blue. “He's from a couple of streets over.”  
  
They talked for a bit, about nothing of great importance. When James had finished the wonderful whisky, he bade the other man goodnight. Noticing Q didn't look like he had any intention of going to sleep soon.  
  
\--  
  
James noticed the lights were still on when he came in from a late date. Over the past few days, James had learned more about the Quartermaster. Q was the most guarded person he'd ever met. There was no mention of anything personal, and Q kept the strangest hours. He was awake with James woke and he would still be up when James went to bed. Now, after an evening out, he was still up at three in the morning.  
  
James walked in and reached down to scratch Jasmine. The long haired cat seemed to have taken a special liking to him. And James had found he liked to brush the long hair, he would get lost in the simple repetitive action while the cat purred in his lap.  
  
He found Q, leaning back in on the settee. A cello on a stand by him. James still had never heard Q play anything, despite the number of instrument in the house. And he never seemed to sleep.  
  
“Didn't go well?” Q asked. Reaching down to pick up the small sherry glass.  
  
“No. She was a single mother looking for something I couldn't give her.” Another thing James noticed. Q sampled everything, but stuck to almost nothing. Once a bottle of wine was finished he didn't buy another, but he bought something else. As the small glass indicated, Q had moved onto Sherry for the time being.   
  
Q headed for the kitchen. James followed him through the dark house. Q tossed over his shoulder, “Well Paul hasn't worked out. Eve was angling for a night out.”  
  
“Another one? How many is that?”  
  
Q stopped in his preparing of the tea. Earl Grey one of the few things, James noted, he had repeatedly. With a slight frown of concentration Q said, “An average of a new partner every 4.7 weeks.”  
  
James waved off the offer of a cup. “I'm off to bed, Q. See you tomorrow, well today, now, actually.”  
  
\--  
  
After arriving at MI6, James’ first stop was Mallory’s office. Mallory immediately asked about Q.  
  
James gave a list of the man's oddities, and admitted they were not enough for there to be suspicious about. Adding, “I concur with Tanner. Q is strange. But for him being an agent or someone dangerous, I don't see it, M.”  
  
Mallory pulled out a file. “I've been going through more of what my predecessor was up to. I found an 'absolute' amnesty for 'The Quartermaster appointed on October 10th 2008' No name given. For crimes past and present as of 2008. No name and no list of crimes. He could be Hitler and we couldn't allow him to be prosecuted. I am concerned, Double O Nine.”  
  
While James read over the very powerful document. It was the ultimate get out of jail free card. Most amnesties had loopholes. This one allowed for only one limitation, everything Q did after 2008 could be prosecuted.  
  
“If he has amnesty, why would he risk his freedom now?”  
  
“I am more concerned about what Q did that would require such an amnesty rather than the fact he received one. Now, Double O Nine, you mentioned a crush. Can you exploit it further? I want to know who the Quartermaster is and what he has done. There have already been too many traitors. I don’t want to discover that Q is one only after it is too late.”  
  
James nodded. “I'll push to get closer to him.”  
  
\--  
  
“Forget the hunt.” James said to the woman looking around. Putting down the tray of drinks. “Enjoy the company of friends.”  
  
James placed a vibrant pink drink in front of Q and another one in front of the woman. James himself having a Martini.  
  
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” Eve accused.  
  
“Yes!” James held up his glass, “Now, Cheers!”  
  
Q tapped his glass to James' in salute. Eve then added her glass. And they all drank.  
  
Nearing the end of the second round. Eve cast her eyes around. James caught her chin. “Ignoring us, Ms Moneypenny.”  
  
“Fine, fine. I'll play nice.”  
  
“Good, it's your round. Don't get distracted by the blond himbo.” James teased. The woman sent him a teasing glare and headed for the bar, her eyes straying to the muscled blond at the bar with a few friends.  
  
While they were alone. “So, Q. What's your deal? Girls? Boys? Casual? Loving?”  
  
Q lifted his head haughtily. Teasing, “You're the master spy. What do you think?”  
  
“Boys. Given how you blush so cutely whenever I smile at you.” James said using the smile that made the younger man blush. “I'm going to say you're the type that likes the long hall.”  
  
Eve returned with the tray. Passing out the drinks, she asked,. “So what are we talking about?”  
  
“Q's type?” James teased, taking a sip of the strong drink. The other followed his lead.  
  
“Oh, that's one of the biggest pools going.” Eve said.  
  
“Pansexual.” Q admitted. “All that really matters is my partner is interesting. And no James, I can get bored easily so often move on quickly.”  
  
“Interesting? Like a daredevil or a lion tamer? ” Eve asked. James rather glad, she was the one talking, so he didn't have to.  
  
“No. Like someone I can't read. Like....” Q launched into a lecture. First picking on a woman standing at the bar with long blond hair in a Jessica Rabbit style, covering one eye and lying over the front of one shoulder. Q went over the smoker's lines that the Botox tried to hide. The way she seemed aloof, meant she was scared of intimacy, while being here meaning she also sought it, deducing she liked one night flings. Q went through everyone standing at the bar, reading them as if they were an open book. During the time James had supplied two more rounds and everyone was wavering slightly. Q finished, “When I read people, I like their story to be interesting.”  
  
Eve's head nodded. Her eyes rather heavy. James prompted it was probably time to go.  
  
With Eve being held up between the two men they tumbled out into the fresh air. Getting a cab, they got Eve home and onto her couch.  
  
During the longer journey home, the two men slumped against each other. James lifted his arm so Q would slump against him, hugging the smaller man.  
  
“Are you trying to seduce me, Mr Bond.” came the slightly dreamy voice.  
  
“I can't promise a future.” James offered.  
  
Q stretch up and pressed his lips to James' in a quick kiss. “You have pretty eyes.”  
  
James cupped the long face, brushing a thumb over the cheek bone. “You have soulful eyes.”  
  
James felt Q's hand cup the back of his skull to pull them close. Their lips locked. A hungry kiss. James tasted the lingering sweetness of the cocktails the other had been drinking. Something that was only described as Q.  
  
He ran his hands over the lean body. James settled his hand on the round of the man's hip.  
  
The cab stopped sharply, jerking the passengers forward. The gruff and annoyed cabbie, barked they had arrived. James shoved a wad of cash through the hole in the Plexiglas partition, really wanting to shove his fist into the sneering man's face  
  
James and Q tumbled out onto the pavement. Quickly going up the garden path and getting inside the house. James peeled the cardigan off Q, leaving it on the hall floor. Having his grey suit jacket pushed off his shoulders for it to flutter to the stairs, in turn. All the time kisses were shared and hands roamed.   
  
James' dick was at full mast, or would be once freed. Cupping the other man's crotch, James felt the bulge but there was no stiffness to it. He continued on, cupping the wool covered arse. Q jumped and wrapped his legs around James' waist. The blond carried the smaller man the last several steps to Q's room and the bed.  
  
Falling onto the duvet covered bed, James found the overlap of the other man's shirt and slid his hand inside. Feeling the flesh, and then the point of an aroused and stiff nipple. His other hand pressed to Q's crotch again, massaging the bulge still covered by clothes.  
  
Q started to squirm out of James hands. Pulling back from the kiss, James looked down at the flushed man. Q had lost his glasses at some point.  
  
“I need to, to freshen up,” came Q's husky voice.  
  
James watched Q scramble off the bed and head into the bathroom. Sitting up, James pulled the tie from his neck then removed his shirt. Shimmying out of his trousers, he had a fleeting paranoid thought. In most missions this would be the point when the mark came out of the bathroom with a gun.  
  
Putting the pillow against the headboard. James reclined back, playing with his hard cock to keep it interested while the time stretched on. The sound of the latch heralded the return of the wayward man.  
  
Q came round the edge of the door frame slowly. His long body on full display. His dick straight and not quite reached the horizontal. Crowned by a patch of downy hair, with a tight scrotum.  
  
James took the opportunity, while both were just drinking in the sight each others bodies. Something James had seen hints of, now was clear to him. The round of Q's hips were strangely wide.  
  
“Come here.” James purred.  
  
The lithe man stalked over and crawled onto the bed. Climbing up James' body, they shared a kiss as Q took the other man's throbbing dick in hand and pumped.  
  
James rolled over, taking Q with him. His hands ran up and down the other's lean body. Feeling the rather prominent nipple, James moved to kiss the column of the neck and over the chest. Eye to eye, Q's nipples were very pointed. Suckling on the nub, Q squirmed. Pulling back, James noticed a line under the flat pectoral. Then working his way down, he kissed the flat stomach. Settling between Q's legs, James took Q's circumscribed dick in hand to lick the gland. By now he was careful of his reactions.  
  
“Do you have...?”  
  
“Prepared!” Q moaned.  
  
James cradled the tight balls of the other man. Noticing a line, a scar going up and over Q's hip. Years old and almost invisible now. Pressing a finger into the cleft and finding the pucker relaxed and lubed.   
  
Hooking Q's legs over his shoulders, James moved closer. Leaning down, he almost folded the other man in half. They kissed. While tongues fought and tasted, James angled himself, feeling the slick burning heat against his dick. Slowly he slid in, the tight ring of muscle gripping him so deliciously.  
  
Settling, fully seated inside the other man's body, James broke the kiss to look. Q was flushed and beautiful. His eyes heavy and blinking slowly. Q gave short pants, while he overcame the first discomfort of the penetration. Only when Q gave an experimental roll of his hips did James start the first pull out.  
  
Q's dick, remained rock hard throughout. Slowly James built up to a frantic pace. All the time, watching, or kissing the breath from the other man. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, broken by grunts of effort from James and gasps of the air being pushed out of the other man's lungs.  
  
James licked his hand, not the best but would have to do. He rubbed his fist up and down the other man's cock. Keeping his touch gentle with only spit for lube.  
  
Q grasped the head board. With the leverage, he could push down, meeting the incoming thrusts.  
  
James planted a hand beside the other man's head. Still with Q's long legs over his shoulders. They were getting closer and closer. Q screamed and arched up. James feeling the legs going like iron. With a few frantic upward curling thrusts of his hips, James came, buried deep within Q.  
  
Slumping to the side, James pulled the lax man to him. More oddities, but one James expected. Sweat and nothing else decorated either Q or James' chest. While lube mixed with James' cum started to leak from the smaller man.  
  
James kissed the wide, swollen lips again. Brushing the long sweat damped locks off Q's flushed face. Gradually Q's breathing evened out, going deeper and slower. James feeling the lingering weight of the other man's erection against him.  
  
Falling asleep, James was vaguely aware of his partner moving, but never did Q leave his arms.  
  
Waking up in the morning, to the familiar sensation of almost every man. An uncomfortable rod of iron sticking out from his pelvis and trapped against the other man. Again, for a problem most men suffered, Q did not seem affected.


	4. The East Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, comments and kudos.

The cab let him off right in front of the gate. James handed over a bundle of cash, his dirty fingers leaving behind blood smears. The cab pulled away, quickly, leaving the battered and bruised man on the pavement.  
  
Beginning the slog up the path, James dragged one heavy foot after another. He reached the door, thankful there was a low light coming from the bay window. He raised his hand, but before knocking the door gave a clunk and was pulled open.  
  
“No comments, Q.” James muttered and entered. He should have reported in. Had his debriefing. Medical. But after some missions MI6 had to be kept away until James was ready to face them.  
  
Dragging himself into the living room. James sank into a chair while somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was ruining the silk cushions, but at that moment he couldn’t bring himself to care.  
  
James closed his eyes as the first flash of memory came. A man with James' hands around his neck. The pale marble floor formed a halo framing the dying man's beetroot face. Out of nowhere a vase was smashed over James's back. The Double O couldn't be distracted, even when he saw the attack came from small boy in blue pyjamas. The boy begged James to not to hurt his father, cried and screamed when he was left with the dead body. The child's voice still rang in James' ears a day and a half later.  
  
“James?”  
  
The soft voice cut through James' memories, and for the barest moment banished them. Cracking open an eye, he was met with an offered glass of scotch. He took the glass, without acknowledgement then swigged half of it in one go. Hearing Q take a breath to say something, James headed him off.  
  
“I know all the bullshit, Q. That Maurice was as bad as they come. That he had the coastal villages sacked, men and boys murdered if they didn't join his gangs. Women and girls raped and forced out into the desert to die. That he controlled the Somalian coast, so he could seize ships.”  
  
“I was going to say, I started a bath for you.”  
  
James snorted out a humourless laugh. “Silly me, jumping to conclusions.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
James glanced at the man. Noticing he was in a long dark purple dressing gown. No sympathy, but acceptance from him. “You know what happened?”  
  
Q gave a single nod that left James in no doubt. Somehow, even without monitoring, Q was aware of what had happened on the mission.  
  
James stood. He stalked closer to the other man and reached out. Where most would recoil from the bloodied and swollen hand, Q allowed himself to be touched, without flinch or the repulsion James felt.  
  
“Wash my back?”  
  
Q stilled for a brief second, before nodding. In his state, James could have jumped to the conclusion it was the repulsion, but something made him think it was surprise.  
  
Q nodded and stood. James feeling an arm entwine with his. He leaned a bit more against the smaller body. Q pulled them to a stop, when James tried to go for Q's room. The one they had come to share since being intimate the first time.  
  
“I thought you would want to be alone. I filled the other bath.”  
  
James cupped the other man's cheek. Looking into the hazel eyes, now noting there were no glasses.  
  
“So you're not infallible, Quartermaster.”  
  
“Rather surprising isn't it?”  
  
James headed on, into Q's room then the attached bathroom. Sitting on the rim he turned the taps on full force. Q slipped away to deal with the other tub. James saw the change in water pressure, when Q shut off the other set of taps. Then came the gurgling from the old pipes as the other bath was emptied. James shut off the cold tap, knowing the hot water tank would be turning cold soon anyway.  
  
When Q returned, he helped James strip and get him into the water. A little cooler than James would have liked but that didn't matter. James felt Q’s hands run over his shoulders as the boffin sat just outside the claw footed tub.  
  
James lay back just felt Q's hands wander down his chest. Q started to hum a tune. A slow plodding song, that seemed to match James' heartbeat. It lulled James into a relaxed state. Time losing meaning.  
  
“James, the water is cold.” Q whispered.  
  
James came out of his relaxed state and noticed the temperature was verging on uncomfortable. He pulled himself out of the bath. Q helping him to dry. When they got into bed, James got Q to lay down on his back. James then curled around the man and lay his head on Q's shoulder. His fingers skimmed over the lean man's chest. He traced the prominent collarbone and even Q's neck, running his fingers up and down the contour-less throat.  
  
Q started to hum again. This time, James felt the vibration in the smaller man's chest that he was pillowed on. He fell into the dreamless sleep. The same blessed rest after a difficult mission that require an alcohol induced catatonic state to reach.  
  
\--  
  
When James woke, the sun had risen and he was alone. Going through his morning ritual, James padded naked to the neighbouring room to get something from his closet.  
  
Coming back along the landing, James stopped at the open door of Q's room. For all the times he had been in there, he had never poked about it. Mallory's mission, and even James' own paranoia started competed with the affection, or the flicker of something more he felt for Q. The line was blurring in James again, where the fake emotion for a mission became genuine. Guilt gnawed at James, because he was snooping on Q when Q was there for him whenever he needed, including the dark moment like last night.  
  
Reluctantly James entered the room he shared with Q. As cover, he could get some of his stuff and claim he just wanted something on hand. But James didn't do it. An unconscious impulse wanted him to be discoverer, to end the mission even if it hurt his relationship with Q. James wanted the lie to be over so he could salvage what he could of their relationship.  
  
Pulling open the wardrobe. Ugly suits, and sports jackets, in mustards or plaids. Almost matching or clashing trousers, depending how you judged them. One item stuck out, it was the only thing in a garment bag.  
  
Pulling out the white garment bag, James unzipped the front. Finding a long cocktail dress, with a single wide shoulder strap, and made of a strange fabric that shimmered and changed colour. Looking at the bottom of the wardrobe, James found what he was looking for. A shoebox, containing high-heels, in Q's size.  
  
Putting everything back. James headed out, making sure the cats didn't sneak back in while the door was open.  
  
James hung around Vauxhall. He would not go near the tower yet. But when he saw the police escorted car pull away, James headed it off. Standing in the middle of a pedestrian crossing he forced the car to wait. He just looked at the driver. One of the officers on the motorcycle raised the visor of his helmet, but before he could speak James walked off.  
  
Mallory caught up the James, crossing the bridge over the Thames.  
  
“I am not back yet.” James warned and only continued when Mallory gave a nod of understanding. “Anything on the house?”  
  
“No. It was bought by MI6 as part of Q's benefits package.”  
  
“Have you been looking into Q's past?”  
  
“Of course I bloody have.”  
  
“And you have been looking for a man?” James prompted, getting a frown of confusion.  
  
The realisation hit Mallory and made a little, 'o' with his lips. James walked away, leaving Mallory dumbfounded.  
  
Q liked to try new things, so James decided to do something off the wall for him. On the way home, he went to an African supermarket to get a couple of sheep heads. The Moroccan dish was nice, if you could get over the fact your dinner's dead eyes were staring back at you. He bought the spices and vegetables, and even the maze meal that was turned into a steamed porridge to soak up the gravy.  
  
By the time Q came home, the house was stinking, the boffin coughed from the spices hanging in the air. Even the cats had decided to stay outside. Both sitting on the windowsill, glaring at James moving about the kitchen.  
  
“Something smells interesting.” Q mused. He lifted the lid of a pot that rattled as a constant blast of steam emitted from it. Seeing something white and lumpy inside. “Grits? No, well not precisely.”  
  
“Pap, not Moroccan but I think mieliepap goes with anything spicy that needs to be soaked up.” James said. Then pointed out the pot of Couscous.  
  
James pulled out two large pasta bowls. He spooned a portion of couscous in the bottom of each bowl. Q stood at James' side, as the curiosity seeped out of him. From the large Aga, James pulled out the large oven dish, in which the heads had been stewing for hours. A head was placed in each of the deep plates and plenty of the stewed vegetables and spiced gravy poured over the top of them. Q took the plates to the table, while James dished up the pap into a big bowl they would share.  
  
“So anything I should watch out for?” Q asked, eyeing his meal with wondrous curiosity.  
  
James shook his head. “They eyes are especially nice. Then the cheeks.”  
  
Q beamed a smile at him. Then delved in for the eye. James caught the delicate hand, and took the fork out of it. “Do as the Romans do.” James teased. Then showed Q how to scoop out they eye ball with his fingers.  
  
Q rolled up his sleeves and copied James. He scooped out the eyeball and dropped it into his mouth. Chewing with a perplexed expression, James had come to know as the boffin committing every detail to memory.  
  
James watched the other man eat, marvelling at how Q reacted. He was so enthralled. James had to bite his tongue to stop confessing he was on a mission.  
  
“Q, you never talk about your past.” James prompted. Deciding if Q could be trusted, he would try and palm Mallory off and end the mission without Q knowing.  
  
Q lost his joyfulness again just for a brief second. Just like the other times, if James had not been looking he would have missed it.  
  
Q said, “I don't like talking about my past. Out of everyone, I thought you would understand.”  
  
James wanted to argue. He wanted to ask about the timeline he wasn't meant to know about. Or the amnesty. Or all the other little oddities that would reveal he had been investigating the other man.  
  
“Okay.” James said. “I won't push.”  
  
The way Q just accepted James' words was like a sucker punch. Again, James was on the verge of confessing and trying to salvage what he could of their relationship.  
  
From that moment on the night progressed with a heavy atmosphere in the house. In silence, they went up to bed. James wasn't in the mood to do more than just cuddle, thankfully Q was willing to do just that.  
  
James knew from experience that this shift in intimacy preceded the failure of almost all of his relationships. Everyone knew it was over and they were just waiting for the final straw to break the camel’s back. And James secretly had a ton of them just waiting to be exposed. As he fell asleep, clinging tightly to Q’s warm body, he wondered how long until Q left him.  
  
Waking up to the sound of a piano. A slow plodding tune like a march, of a do-doo do-doo. James felt across the bed and found the cold sheets.  Throwing the cover off him, he stood and padded across the rough and creaking floorboards towards the sound of his wayward bed partner.  
  
Standing in the doorway, James just watched the long line of Q's naked back and the roundness of his buttocks. His eyes drawn to the thin bare arms catching the weak light spilling in form the street lamp outside. A tentative and shy tune that grew into an affirmation of living.  
  
Q came to rest. Still not looking at him. James whispered, “That was beautiful.”  
  
“The March from the Cloud Atlas Suite.”  
  
“I don't recognise it.” James whispered coming to sit on the wide piano stool. He sat down like it was a loveseat, Q facing the piano and James faced outwards.  
  
Q started to play a similar song with the same haunting sound. Q whispered, “That's because I have not published it.”  
  
James nodded. The information being added to his mental file on Q, 'Accomplished pianist.', and 'gifted composer.'  
  
“Have you properly filed and indexed the new information, James?” Q mused, without breaking the music.  
  
“Sorry?” James tried for oblivious confusion.  
  
“Please don't be so pedestrian, James. It's unbecoming.” James' face fell to a neutral expression. Q adding, “I deduce Mallory has finally started reading through old M's archives and found my timeline. As I have exposed myself, your mission is a failure. Given who I am, if I'm deemed a threat I can be imprisoned without trial and there is no family to make a fuss. So please can we be truthful. I'd like to know how far you have gotten.”  
  
The song changed movement into something dark without hope. Grief, the music brought to the blond man. James slumped a bit. “You were born a woman.”  
  
Q shrugged, without affecting his playing. “That's a big leap in logic.”  
  
“A leap you are not denying. Well let’s start with your surgeries. Minor scaring on the chest, from a mastectomy. Another scar over your hip from penis construction, phalloplasty. Although I didn't notice a scar I believe you probably had the areola reduced but the nipple is more prominent than on a man. You always go into the bathroom before sex without an erection and come out with one. You are the only man I know that doesn't suffer morning stiffies. My research leads me to  suspect a pump in one of your testicles to engorge your penis. Nor do you produce sperm. Your hips are wider. You have no Adam's apple. And during oral sex, there is a slight lack of depth to the flavour of your penis.”  
  
“Okay. I admit to being born a woman.”  
  
“I do find something strange.” James said and Q's fingers faltered on the keyboard, for a barely perceived note held just an instant too long. “Most transgender people identify as heterosexual. Born a man, a transgender woman will identify as a heterosexual woman. Born a woman, a transgender man will identify as a heterosexual man. There are not many who would be homosexual in their identified gender. You also keep a rather nice dress and matching shoes. I think Q that you still view yourself as a heterosexual woman. So I deduce you are not a true transgender person, but are hiding.”  
  
“What makes you think I'm hiding.”  
  
“You are a psychopath...”  James trailed off. Q laughed so hard he had stopped playing. “You're not a psychopath?”  
  
Q shook his head. He started playing from where he left off. “I'm a good liar. But! Have I shown the charisma associated with psychopaths? Or the ego? Even the trait you may view as lack of empathy, does not conform to the expected traits of a psychopath.”  
  
James took the risk. “Even with an amnesty you hide, because there is someone out there that will never honour it. Meaning you did something very bad and are on the run. If our time is over can I know who you are?”  
  
Q returned to a plodding tune. Different from the march but still of the same music. “There is a bit, representing either a 1 or 0, making two possible combinations. Eight bits make a Byte, giving 256 possible combinations. There are 1024 Bytes in a Kilobyte.1024 Kilobytes in Megabytes. Going up and up there is a Yottabyte which is equal to 309485009821345000000000000 combinations of 0 or 1. Have I lost you yet?”  
  
James nodded. Q continued.  
  
“You know the words I just used, but you do not understand the meaning I used them in. Just like I had to learn about binary data retention and transmission. I had to learn about emotions. Even my own.”  
  
The haunting music shifted but Q's voice stayed even and emotionless, “If I so choose, I can feel nothing. Where there are nice informative books explaining numbers to a person who doesn't know anything about them; there are no books on emotions written from the perspective of not having them. So when I was young I studied emotion.  
     Oh, how I made my brother laugh and laugh. Until it was pointed out I was making him scream. The sound was so very similar. Then there was my experiment in fun. My brother would play with me until his friend came over and my experiment ended. So I changed the game, to continue my experiment on fun. My brother and I ran around the fields, the beaches, the forest, everywhere. I even made up a nonsense song to push him onwards.”  
  
James' heart was racing. As he produced such emotional music, Q appeared to have none while he spoke. He asked, “You did something to the friend?”  
  
“I tricked him into jumping down a well.” Q said. He then looked at James. His fingers still dancing on the piano, giving a strange ambiances to the conversation. “My eldest brother and Uncle Rudy tried to get me to tell them what I did. I knew I killed Victor but he was irrelevant.  
     Through my brother I was now able to study sorrow and grief, loss and pain. After I was finished I programmed my brother's memories to forget about Victor. Simple post hypnotic suggestion, easy really to transpose a friend for a dog. By then Uncle Rudy was pushing for me to be sent away. My parents disapproved. Suspecting my eldest brother of working with my uncle. I decided it was time to leave on my own.”  
  
“How old were you?” James asked. He started to fear the naked man beside him. Wishing he had a gun within easy reach.  
  
Q hummed a moment thinking.  
  
“Six, almost seven years old. I set fire to the house, to cover my escape but Uncle Rudy's men were in the forest and I was caught. When I woke up I was in a cell of dark stone and heavy metal door. More of a dungeon really. Being in hospital was actually rather nice. I got to play with all the other prisoners. The warden didn't like me sneaking into the adult sections. He really didn't like it when I started curing some. So I started playing with the guards too. They all had such simple little minds. So easily influenced or... _broken_.  
      The time allowed me to expand my emotional education. I learned guilt, sorrow, empathy was very interesting. But ultimately I got bored after a while so planned my escape. It took eight years for Uncle Rudy to die and my eldest brother to take over as my guardian. When my brother came to see me for the first time, everything was ready. I already had my hair cut short in boy's style. Tended to were the pyjamas rather than nightgowns. My eldest brother walked right past me to the girl I had chosen to replace me.”  
  
Q smiled but James knew it was only a façade to the vacant emotions within Q.  
“Now she was a psychopath, a niece of the queen. She drowned her brother. She then guilted the nanny into hanging herself to misdirect the blame for the crime. Even when found out, she denied killing her brother, because her ego demanded she was too good to have gotten caught. I worked on her for years. Broke her personality, locked it up into a plane about to crash. Drip feeding her my own life. In the end she thought she was me. My replacement fooled my eldest brother. And when he was gone. I walked out the front door. The guards and patients waving goodbye to me. The ones I had not fully broken were so happy to see me go.”  
  
Q stopped playing to look at the man beside him. “Everything else you should already know. I kept my head down until Tanner found me and I joined MI6.”  
  
“You have not killed since?” James asked, coolly, while his body thrummed with adrenalin. It felt like he was sitting beside a cobra with hood open and ready to strike.  
  
“Oh, I have killed. May times. Only last week, Double O One was wounded and dying. He was trapped in a lab of a chemical factory. My original idea of causing a leak, was overruled as being too dangerous, but it saved him. I isolated Double O One and flooded the rest of the facility with the nerve gas it was producing. All died. The extraction team met no resistance and they got Double O One out. Then there was the cruise missile meant to shoot down Double O Eight's plane. I kept it locked to its launch platform when they tried to fire it. The missile, truck and everything around it was destroyed when the missile failed to launch and exploded while still on the ground.”  
  
“I don't mean like that.”  
  
Q started to laugh again. “Murder is murder. It's necessary part of all life really. But, there is no quantifiable difference between killing one person who is doing a bad thing and another who is just walking down the street. Only an ethereal moral code that most pretend have some form of meaning. In order to differentiate oneself from the person they are killing.”  
  
Seeing the horror of the concept in James' expression. Q cupped the man's face. “You are so innocent.” He gave a peck on the man's cheek, feeling the way James flinched away.  
  
Q stood and headed back to the bedroom. Q called, “It's late and I'm tired. I will go quietly, so please no tactical team scaling the building and busting windows and doors.”  
  
James watched the nude backside disappear out the door, then the long legs as Q climbed the stairs. Wondering what the hell he was going to do. Q was clearly mad, and more dangerous than he could have imagined, but he had always been there for James. And given what he had seen just now. The times he took advantage of the boffin, now having greater meaning because Q was no gullible push over. He was a willing participant to all James had done.  
  
Scrubbing his face, he whispered to himself, “Well you always liked to live dangerously, James.”  
  
James stood and headed into the bedroom. Slipping in, under the covers he hugged the smaller body close, as he pressed his lips to the bony shoulder.  
  
Q rolled over and in the darkness James could make out the hazel eyes inches from his own. James whispered, “I have grown close to you. But I need to make a report to Mallory.”  
  
James felt Q brush his face. “I have no reason to be considered a threat to MI6 or the country.”  
  
“Can I have you name?”  
  
“Eurus.”


	5. The game's a foot.

“If I said, I loved you...”  
  
“I would say I love you, in return. And I would mean it. But if I so chose I could suspend the emotion.” Q whispered back.  
  
James played with the loose sack of the other man's balls. With a barely held empathetic wince he squeezed one flat. Where most men would be screaming, Q's dick just swelled ever so slightly. James feeling Q run his fingers over his scalp and through James' short hair.  
  
“So you consciously bring up an emotion, and dismiss it when no longer needed?”  
  
Q nodded. “I learned to feel emotions, like I learned to play an instrument. I can play music, or not.”  
  
James laid his head on the lean man's chest. He moved to skim his hands over the other man's hips. Since the other night, Q had been rather open about everything. Which led to James having thousands of questions he was slowly working his way through. Careful to avoid simple or overly obvious questions, which Q wouldn't even acknowledge had been asked.  
  
“One thing,” James mused. “If you even suspected Mallory would investigate you, why would you invite me in?” After a few moments of silence James suspected the question was going to be ignored.  
  
“Mallory had nothing to do with me inviting you, James. Blofeld,” James sat up sharply to look Q in the eye. Q continued, “He is obsessed with you. That will never fade or die. He will try to provoke you again, into freeing him. You have been watched since you came back. I predict there will be an attempt to...kill me, given Dr. Swann's kidnap plan failed to provoke the desired outcome.”  
  
Seeing James begin to shake, Q cupped his rough cheek. Letting all emotion fade to nothing. When Q was at his most heartless, holding an absolute cruelty born of having no sympathy or empathy for anything. Q saw the moment, James's fear switched from Q's safety to fear of Q.  
  
With cold, empty eyes, and an even tone of voice. “I am prepared, Double O Nine. I expect a team between three and five men. I bought this house specifically. There is not a single floorboard or step that does not creak. Any hinge that does not make a noise, is because the door or window scrapes. The dust tells me who has been where. I assure you, Double O Nine, anyone Blofeld sends after me will be returned to him, rendered down so they fit into a jam jar. And I am not joking. The jelly pan and equipment are in the cellar. Have you found the cellar?”  
  
James gulped and shook his head. As fast as he changed, Q changed back. A soft smile broke out on his wide lips and his eyes filled with bashful wonder.  
  
“I like you James. I even love you. For you, there is no length I will not go to. I have even arranged Blofeld's murder. But everything has it's time. Blofeld can only die when he is no longer a person of interest. I deduce, eight more months until all he knows become obsolete and no security service will look Blofeld's way again.”  
  
James reached out and pulled the leaner man against him. None had put themselves out there like Q was doing. Nor did James ever have sympathy for a bad guy, but whoever came after Q he would feel for. Sure they would not survive and their death would not be pleasant.  
  
“I've got some interviews to do, in order to support my recommendations.” James whispered. “If I were to recommend a supervision order, could you live with it?”  
  
“Only for you, James.” Q then pushed back, so he could poke the man in the chest as he said, “If I get carted off, I will not be a happy Q. I will escape. And I will never again feel love for you. I will never think about you again, in fact.”  
  
James smiled and pulled the other man in for a kiss.  
  
\--  
  
"Tanner?" James called, pushing open the door of the chief of staff. They gave a brief greeting while James took a seat. "I'd like to talk about Q. Apart from the strangeness, has he ever done anything?"  
  
Tanner shook his head. "A model employee."  
  
"Or biding his time." James prompted.  
  
Sitting back, Tanner thought a moment then shook his head. "Agents need to have ambition to get themselves into a privileged position they can exploit. Q's academic path was out the way of our usual recruiting grounds or networking opportunities. No, the hallmarks of him being an agent isn't there. If I was to put money down on him doing something it would be whistle-blowing."  
  
James kept his own opinion, Q would never see anything he would object to enough to blow the whistle on.  
  
"What's this about, Bond?"  
  
James shrugged. He should be ringing alarm bells, and arranging for Q to be carted off, but despite how scary Q was, James would still want him at his back when the chips were down. Perhaps a little more so now, considering how good Q really was.  
  
"Just getting a read on everyone's favourite little boffin." James said and gave his goodbyes.  
  
James headed through the building. Pushing the door open onto a large communal office with the ten ornate oak desks occupying the cavernous room, James entered the Double O section. He nodded to the dragon of a woman, sitting at the desk closest to the door.  
  
"Mrs Ponsonby." James muttered to the secretary. She just glanced over her 50’s style glasses and continued typing.  
  
Noticing the 001 desk had its assigned Double O at it, James headed for the desk on the far left corner of the room.  
  
"What can I do for Double O Nine?" Wardner asked, without looking up from his computer and while James was still halfway across the room.  
  
"Q,"  
  
The long faced man gave a chuckle and leaned back in the green leather chair. "What has the little geek been up to now? I'll tell you, if he ever asks you to help him with one of his experiments...SAY YES."  
  
"Experiments?" James asked pulling out the chair form 002's desk to sit beside the other Double O. Wondering what Q had done.  
  
"Oh yes." Wardner said with unholy glee. "He gave me this sonic thing to try out, when I had to infiltrate this compound. I pointed it at this guard on the door. Funny as hell watching some poor sod go from fine to crapping themselves in a matter of minutes. But I wouldn't have made it through some missions without him."  
  
"The chemical weapons factory?" James prompted.  
  
Wardner shook his head. "You expect to be overwhelmed. I don't know if you have thought about this, but I expect to go bleeding to death in a small room just waiting to be discovered by the guards. No. It was one of those posh affairs, when you have to play nice with the worst form of scumbags. That's when Q really pulled me through.  
   
     “It was a human trafficking thing. During a big party. Black tie and everything. I entered this dining room. There were _fucking_ people on the tables. Some cooked whole. Others alive and being butchered. Flambéed in front of the guests like the posh steaks at the good restaurants. I was about to lose it. You know in the way where you start shooting and don't care who you hit. My hand was creeping towards my shoulder holster.  
      “My phone started ringing! It was Q. He talked to me. He told me to turn to my Nine o'clock. I was given the rundown on some doctor and was told how he was already being investigated by the FBI. Q went through every guest and how they were going to get their comeuppance. He then gave me the bullshit on the good I was doing. Finished with a bollocking. It was everything to get me moving and to complete my mission."  
  
"The human trafficking ring, it wasn't your mission?" James asked. He was told it was some bigwig who was part of it. So James asked, "What happened to the ring?"  
  
Wardner gave a dark smile. "Q, he came to me shortly after I got back. He destroyed their accounts. Buried some big American bank, then a British bank. Dozens of business went belly up overnight. But Q said a trigger needed pulled, so I was front and bloody centre.  
     “How killing twelve people stopped the ring from recovering I didn't know. But when I was finished I met Q at the house where the big party had been. The little geek had bought it and wired it up to the teeth. He even had one of those old plunger detonators for me. I must say blowing that hell hole sky high did exorcises my demons."  
  
James frowned. Wondering why Wardner was so chatty. Then the other man added, "I know you are investigating the kitten. You can put this in your bloody report to Mallory. If Q goes, Mallory can have my resignation too. And as for you, Double O Nine. You see me and you, if anything happened to the kitten, we are going to see who comes out on top. Get my meaning?"  
  
The threat from the other Double O was rather novel in James' experience. He assured the protective Double O, "I'm rather fond of Q too. Nothing will happen to him, especially by my hand."  
  
"Mallory might be in charge. But it's Q who keeps us together out there in the field. He's the one we respect since..."  
  
"M?" James whispered. Given Wardner had been using Mallory, the feeling wasn't James' alone. Everyone still thought of M being a diminutive, silver haired, battleaxe.  
  
James stood, putting the chair he had been sitting on back. Wardner called, "I'd bet every Double O will chose Q over Mallory any day of the week."  
  
James nodded and headed for his desk. On the opposite side of the room and further up. He sat in the wing-back chair and pulled it closer to his desk. For a report this sensitive, he pulled out the mechanical typewriter. Some things were too sensitive for them to be done on a computer.  
  
\--  
  
Mallory closed the manila folder, with the single sheet of paper inside. The front emblazoned with 'EYES ONLY' and 'TIER 1' and the unnecessary but mandatory, 'TOP SECRET'.  
  
He looked at the Double O. "Bond, you have said a monumental amount of nothing."  
  
"Q told me everything. I have decided you don't need to know. I trust Q enough to have him at my back, in any situation. As does Double O One. I suspect you will get the same response from all the Double O’s."  
  
Mallory flipped open the folder, and pointed to the recommendation part. "Then why do you say he needs to be watched? Lamplighters are only recommended for known double agents."  
  
"Or, 'I'." James said, referring the MI6's chief Inquisitor. A torturer.  
  
"'I' is a card carrying psychopath. That could turn anyone onto ribbons of blood and flesh..." Mallory saw the way James gave a subtle nod. "Q's a psychopath?"  
  
James gave a languid shrug. "I think, 'I' is a mercy compared to what Q is capable of, M."  
  
Mallory nodded and looked at the conclusion. A single sentence, 'Q represents a potential danger but not an active threat to MI6 or the country.'  
  
"Fine." Mallory said. "I will speak to Q, and give him the option of continuing under Lamplighter surveillance."  
  
Seeing James had not taking the subtly dismissal. "Is that all, Double O Nine?"  
  
"One more matter, M. I have grown rather fond of Q. I am giving formal notice of an inter-departmental relationship."  
  
"Notice received. Dismissed Double O Nine."  
  
\--  
  
"He's...nice...but..." Eve mused. James sitting at one of the waiting chairs in her office while Q and Mallory had their talk. Eve was going on about this guy, who was nice but...  
  
James was being nice. Nodding. Looking like he was paying attention. "So what does Mark do?" The woman's look meant James had just said something wrong. "You're not with Mark any more are you?"  
  
"No, James. It's nice to know I have your ear when I need it."  
  
"No offence." James said and got _the look_ again. "You've had two, wait, no three, new loves of your life since I got back."  
  
"Are you calling me a slut!"  
  
"No. I'm saying your standards are ridiculous. The new what's-his-name, who is nice, and was perfect a week ago, probably hasn't changed that much. Just give me one reason he was perfect week ago and isn't now?"  
  
"He leaves his socks on the floor."  
  
"Ohh, have him carted off to the Tower. He needs to be hung drawn and quartered for such a grave crime, as leaving his socks on the floor."  
  
"You sound like my sister." The woman pouted.  
  
"Wise woman, maybe I should meet her."  
  
"Oh, screw off, Bond." Eve turned to her computer, continuing to pout.  
  
"You want me to make you feel good about ripping some poor sod's heart out, because you have a weird perfection hang up. Well I'm not doing it."  
  
Eve made a face, miming in time to James' words. Then complained, "You're meant to be my friend."  
  
"I am. And as your friend, you have ridiculously high standards."  
  
Mallory's door opened and Q preceded M out of the office. James stood and the smaller man came to his side. Flinging a causal arm around Q's waist, James looked at him with hopeful eyes.  
  
Q nodded, "I have agreed to M's conditions."  
  
"Thank you." James said and gave a peck on the slightly stubbly cheek.  
  
Eve, seeing the very close embrace and kiss, asked, "Are you two together?"  
  
Q gave a bashful nod. Every bit the slightly reserved boffin.  
  
Eve beamed, "We need to go out and celebrate."  
  
"Mark too?" James prompted getting a look of confusion from Q and a glare from Eve.  
  
"Oh." Q said in understanding. "Peter not working out?"  
  
Eve liked the sympathy even less than James' bluntness. James elbowed the man at his side, "Q, stop enabling her. We're going for tough love."  
  
Q nodded sagely. "Okay. But Peter is wrong for Eve."  
  
"See!" Eve snapped at James.  
  
"He's gay." Q added. Eve glared at him.  
  
"He's not gay." Eve pleaded.  
  
Q asked for the woman's phone. When he had the device he pulled up a picture of the man. "Manicured nails. Spray tan, straight men tend to go for sunbeds where gay men prefer something that won't prematurely age their skin. And the biggie, the designer underwear that caters to the gay market and only available in the gay apparel shops, Andrew Christian. Not to mention he's showing off his underwear like a flag." Q highlighting the waist band of the designer underwear above the very tight fitting jeans.  
  
James caught Q's hand and turned the screen towards him. He looked at the blond, round faced man with arctic blue eyes. Q teased him, "I wasn't going to mention that."  
  
"Mention what?" Eve demanded.  
  
Mallory looked at the screen and fought to keep his face straight, seeing what the other two men were looking at.  
  
"MENTION WHAT!"  
  
James turned the phone round and held it under his chin so Eve could see the photo and James' face at the same time. She insisted, "What are you going on about?"  
  
"He looks like me." James said, finally putting the woman out of her misery.  
  
Eve's face darkened in anger and embarrassment. Mallory mentioned paperwork and darted into his office slamming the door behind him. James handed the phone back and nearly lost his arm when Eve snatched it.  
  
With James dragging him away, Q called back, "Still on for drinks?"  
  
"Too bloody right. And no talking about boyfriends!"  
  
\--  
  
The two men curled around each other in sleep. James mostly lying over the smaller man. Q moved gently, deeper under the man on top of him. A long haired cat padded in and jumped up onto the bed. She curled up on the corner intending to go to sleep.  
  
A phone ripped the two men from their sleep. James reached over Q to pick up the screeching device. Seeing, 'Office' on the screen, James answered it. Tanner snapped, “All hands on deck, for both of you.”  
  
James groaned out an acknowledgement before hanging up. Q already slipped out of bed, to go to the wardrobe. James was handed a suit as he climbed out of bed. The two then headed into the bathroom to get ready.


	6. Sherrinford

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to all the reader, the wonderful comments and kudos.
> 
> Time for action.

Arriving at the tower of glass, that was now MI6. Mallory came into the lobby, on the heels of James and Q.  
  
“Remain, Bond.” Mallory snapped.  
  
Q nodded his greeting then darted off, to corral his branch for whatever was happening.  
  
Tanner stepped off the lift. The chief of staff was tapping away on a tablet. Without looking up he reported, “A general alert went out an hour ago. Lady Smallwood has put in a formal request for the assistance of MI6 and a Double O. She'll be here in four minutes.”  
  
The three men stood in a line. At the two and a half minute mark a car pulled up outside and nearly thirty second later the blond, older woman was entering.  
  
There was no greeting. Lady Smallwood headed for the lifts calling for Mallory to follow. While they travelled up within the glass enclosed space, Lady Smallwood gave the briefing.  
  
“I am aware this is a domestic matter, but I would like your assistance. Last night, the home of Mycroft Holmes was broken into. He is now missing, along with his brother, Sherlock Holmes and an associate, John Watson. A little over one and a half hours ago, Sherrinford sent out a message that a suspicious boat was in bound. Fifteen minutes later they reported Sherrinford had been infiltrated by persons unknown. Fifteen minutes after that, that's just over an hour ago now, the island went dark.”  
  
“Sherrinford?” James asked.  
  
Tanner answered, “Secure containment facility. For the highest level threats, the uncontainable. At last count there were twenty inmates.”  
  
Lady Smallwood shook her head and said, “Only one inmate now. Given the disappearance of Mycroft, Sherlock and John, we are assuming that Eurus Holmes is free.”  
  
James pulled on his poker face. Too quickly for anyone to see. “Eurus Holmes?”  
  
Lady Smallwood shook her head, because the doors pinged open. They crossed the reception and entered Mallory's office. With them no longer in the open, Lady Smallwood answered.  
  
“Eurus Holmes was classed as the greatest potential threat to the United Kingdom. She has been incarcerated since she was six...”  
  
“SIX?” Mallory snapped.  
  
“Yes, six years old. Her intelligence was classed as immeasurable. Her emotional state was classed as non-existent. At six, she lured an older and stronger boy away. He has never been seen since. She showed no remorse and held up to... _justifiable_ interrogation techniques. During her incarceration she needed to be separated from the other inmates. She was able to condition them, somehow. Even guards were not immune to her.”  
  
“Now she is free?” Mallory demanded.  
  
Lady Smallwood shook her head. Sombrely. Fearfully. “We think she has her brothers on Sherrinford. The guards are defending it.”  
  
Mallory slumped in his chair. The inmates running the prison, with the help of brainwashed guards. He looked to James, “Double O Nine, you are going into Sherrinford. Try to use non-lethal force on the guards but... Eurus Holmes and anyone helping her have a kill order against them.”  
  
“Mycroft Holmes will not approve.” Smallwood snapped.  
  
“I don't bloody care!” Mallory snapped back then looked to James again, “Dismissed! Double O Nine.”  
  
\--  
  
James walked up to the wild haired boffin. Q stood at a workstation in front of a large screen. The minions were buzzing, in perfect patterns around their queen bee.  
  
“Your equipment will be ready shortly, Double O Nine.” Q did not even need to look to see who was approaching.  
  
James perched against the desk, as he pitched his voice low, “Quite a thing. You kidnapping your brothers and staging a prison break.”  
  
Q gave a languid shrug. “I am very smart.”  
  
“Immeasurably.” James retorted then brushed the other man's chin and turned the head so he could look into the hazel eyes. “I want you to do something for me. Find the program inside your brain, labelled 'Emotion: Concern' and activate it.”  
  
“I'm not a computer.” Q said. But James saw the moment Q started to experience the emotion, it was always like a switch needed to be flipped to activate it. “Eurus is just a common o' garden variety psychopath. Sherlock is brilliant. She will not succeed.”  
  
“What about Mycroft? Or Sherlock's new friend? Activate emotions guilt, sorrow and remorse.”  
  
Q shrugged and turned away. “We all have our parts, Double O Nine. Time to play them.”  
  
One of the minions rolled out a trolley. James looked over the combat gear laid out for him. Q looked over the weapons and equipment, he dismissed the minion when it passed muster.  
  
Using the Q-Branch toilet, James changed into the combat gear. By the time he was ready, Q was coming into the bathroom to announce the helicopter was here. James grabbed his gear, pulled Q into a kiss and darted out. Calling, “Think! It's never too late to change, until someone is gone.”  
  
Q stored the words, without answering them. He came out of the loo and headed back to Q-Branch. Finding three guests, Mallory, Tanner and Control of MI5, Lady Smallwood.  
  
Taking up position at his station, he clipped the mic on his ear. He heard James and the pilot speaking about travel time and weather conditions. Q routed the audio to the speakers so M and the others could hear.  
  
The large screen at the front of the room showed the island. Not a good angle, the northern side obscured because the satellite was down at the equator. A surveillance plane circled the island, giving clearer images, but less static. The bottom right screen showed a fuzzy image, from the headset James wore.  
  
For long minutes, they were stuck with nothing to do but watch. In the lull, Q went through the possibilities. Q had considered a breakdown in the decoy Eurus' conditioning, and her psychopathic nature giving rise to problems. Which Q deduced to be the most likely scenario.  
  
The satellite image showed the arrival of James' helicopter. The island's anti-aircraft defences meant it had to fly at its peak altitude. A small dark spot jumped from the aircraft. James' 1st person camera showed him looking around wildly, blue sky, dark sea, dark island, all in a constantly moving blur. Only when James pulled the ripcord did the image stabilise.  
  
Seeing something, but unable to make it out, Q opened the channel to the spotter plane. “Nessarose to Eagle Eye. Correct course three degrees east.”  
  
When the view of the north east of the island became clearer, Lady Smallwood asked the obvious, “What's that?”  
  
Q ignored the stupid question. Everyone in the room could see the three people dangling at the end of ropes. Another man stood on a balcony, which the three men were anchored to.  
  
Q tipped his head to the side. The multitude of possibilities ran through his head. But not so distracted to not notice James had landed on a beach and was making his way to the fort, dealing with anyone who crossed his path.  
  
Smallwood gasped when one man dropped and hit the rocks hundreds of feet below.  
  
“A test.” Q deduced. “If I'm right the others will fall in three, two, on-”  
  
The man on the balcony cut the other two ropes and the men fell to their death.  
  
“-e. A no win scenario. No matter how good Sherlock is, _Eurus_ intended for him to see all die.”  
  
Lady Smallwood came up to the strange man at the desk. “How do you know?”  
  
Q shrugged. “Obvious really. If you look and stop asking questioned about what's happening in front of your nose.” Q realised he had made an error, his answer would be too similar to his brothers, whom Lady Smallwood knew.  
  
Glancing at the woman who had retreated to M's side. She wore a carefully neutral expression. Q judged her to not be a danger. Deducing, that she thought there would be a link to the Holmes but not who he truly was.  
  
One of the monitoring systems sounded an alarm. Q brought up the alert. A moment later he pulled up the wiretap on his brother's associate. The sound of a ringing came from the speakers. Then stopped.  
  
Q flicked his eyes to James' view. The Double O was sweeping room after room.  
  
The ringing returned. This time Molly picked up.  
  
“Hello, Sherlock. Is this urgent? I'm not having a good day.”  
  
“Molly, I just want you to do something for me and not ask why.”  
  
Without his consent, James' words came back to Q, at the sound of his brother's voice.  
  
Q watched James stalk the low concrete corridors. Dispatching guards that tried to stop him. The conversation between Sherlock and Molly the backdrop. At the back of Q's mind, he analysed all the nuances of both his brother and Molly's voice, and all the emotion. Sherlock's voice carried deep pain, he cared for the woman but did not love her in the way Molly wanted. Sherlock was terrified of something.  
  
“Molly is in danger! Sherlock is trying to save her! By asking Molly to repeat the line, 'I love you',” Q whispered to himself. He ordered loudly to the room, “Dispatch the bomb-squad to Molly Hooper's flat!”  
  
He heard Tanner making the arrangements. Smallwood was asking simple questions like she was a child learning about the world again.  
  
“I love you.” Molly sobbed out and the tap on her phone went dead when she hung up.  
  
James stopped and looked around. Q's eyes zeroing in on his screen. James announced, what Q could see for himself. The guards had stopped coming for the Double O.  
  
Given the location, where they saw the men fell to their death. Q started guiding James through the tunnels.  
  
“Eagle Eye to Nessarose,” Came a voice over the speaker. “We have inbound. A  Helicopter twenty miles north-west.”  
  
The spotter plane's camera swung round. Showing the sleek helicopter, of a type that had wheels which retracted during flight. It was coming in fairly low, meaning the island's defences registered it as a friendly.  
  
  
James found Mycroft. Q able to see his eldest-brother up close for the first time in fifteen years. Mycroft looked up and away, James then looked in the same direction. James announced he could hear the helicopter. Mallory ordered James to go for the helicopter, Q remained quiet knowing James would never get there in time.  
  
The satellite image showed a group reach the roof of the square fort atop of the steep cliffs. Someone dressed in white, with long black hair was leading four others. Two of whom, looked to be unconscious.  
  
A change of venue brought a troubling thought to Q's mind. Quickly, Q set the big screen to loop the satellite image, so it just showed the the helicopter hovering over the fort's roof. Only on his own screen, Q redirected the satellite to show a very different location. A moment later the satellite image appeared, showing a burnt out building with a new and suspicious shipping container like structure in the garden.  
  
“Ah!” Q said. Then glanced to the satellite feeds to watch the helicopter hovering over the fort. Every feed died a moment later.  
  
Lady Smallwood and M had their eyes fixed on the static filled screen. Q ripped the mic from his ear and spun on his heels. Q caught Tanner's eye and held up a finger to his lips, calling for silence. Tanner gave a jerking nod.  
  
Q moved quickly, through the building and out. Spotting James' Aston Q headed for the car. Using his very own key, which James had trusted him with, he slipped in behind the wheel.  
  
In a roar of engine and squeal of tires, Q yanked down hard on the wheel as he shot off, doing a sharp U-turn before flooring it.  
  
In the rear-view mirror, Vauxhall Tower quickly became just a shard of light standing above the other buildings. Q weaved through the traffic. The tower in the rear-view mirror getting smaller the further on he went.  
  
Turning sharply, without indicating. Q saw a Ford Focus skid while trying to keep up with him. With the Lamplighters identified, Q drove fast, almost recklessly with lots of sudden turns. Coming out of a rabbit warren of back lanes. Q flicked his eyes to the mirrors again. Doing a sudden right turn and crossing the oncoming traffic, someone blasted their horn in annoyance but no one followed him.  
  
With his tail gone, Q started to analyse the day. Contemplating the decoy he left on Sherrinford, when he escaped. At first, he thought the woman's conditioning had broken down. But, there had been that message months ago that Mallory had asked about. Now Q suspected the decoy's mental conditioning to have been interfered with.  
  
Passing out of London. Q floored it. He needed to get to Musgrave Hall, before Mycroft's re-enforcements showed up, or the decoy did whatever had been planed out for Sherlock.  
  
His phone started to ring. Knowing James would still be on Sherrinford. Q lowered the window and tossed out the device. If someone was smart it could be tracked by MI5 or the police. His own MI6 tracker was not important, after Q killed MI6's systems he would have a few hours of free movement. He did not want anyone watching where the next part of Moriarty's plan to involve. The one thing Q now suspected, the decoy Eurus was only a pawn in this play, but a dangerous one that Q himself helped make.  
  
For what was to come, Q let his emotions stop. He'd made the decision to step into this fight, now he needed a clear head to execute it. A strange sort of stillness fell over Q, even while he worked the pedals, shifted gears and his eyes flicked from the road to the mirrors.  
  
Killing the car’s headlights, Q saw the helicopter in the distance set down. A few moments later the sleek helicopter was moving off again. Given the ease the helicopter came and went with, Q suspected the entire aviation radar network for southern England to be compromised. Another point that would be far beyond the decoy Eurus, meaning someone else had organised events.  
  
Pulling to a stop just outside the driveway, Q leaned over to open the glove-box. He found one of the many guns James never returned. Pristine, still in its case with silencer. Q screwed on the long attachment and made the weapon ready to fire. Then thought. Popping out the magazine he pushed out bullet after bullet, until only one remained.  
  
Stepping out of the car, Q started heading for the forest. Then stopped as his mind sorted through the scenarios.  
  
Given the play of events, Moriarty is trying to re-enact the most horrific days of Sherlock's life. Watson could only be in one place given that story. The decoy Eurus knew of it, as did the people Q send to retrieve the remains of Victor Trevor. While Q had not cared one way or the other, he saw no point in letting the parents of Sherlock's friend suffer. So from his cell, Q arranged for the remains to be returned and for Trevor's parents to be told the truth, that a child killed their son and the child was put into a secure hospital for the rest of her life.  
  
“To hurt Sherlock the most. John will need to be awake, to tell Sherlock exactly what Trevor suffered.” Q deduced. Then like flashes, ropes and knots appeared in his mind's eye. “No, rope is impractical. There must be a hope of escape, even when there is none. Handcuffs or manacles, something that will allow John some freedom of movement, without allowing him the ability to work knots free.”  
  
Q went to the boot of the car. He found the small tool-bag, including the compact bolt cutters with telescopic handles. Along with the gun, he stuffed the bolt cutters down the back of his belt.  
  
Q headed into the forest. Almost none now knew what the pine forest hid. The trees looked old, with thick bark and sagging boughs. A fallen, wind damaged tree which had not been cleared showed the unmanaged nature of the forest. However, if you looked carefully you could see the century old remnants the uniform rank and file, of a forest planted during the Victorian era. The other give way that this was not a natural forest, was the lack of verity. There were no slow growing trees, like oaks, to be seen.  
   
Q slowed. He needed to be calm and precise. Careful of the bushes and the dry leaves, that could make a noise and give away his location. Nearing the place where a village once stood. The old land owner wanting a nice forest to look at, not some ugly little village in the middle of his landscape. So evicted the tenants and razed the village to make way for this forest.  
  
As a young girl, Q was intrigued how nature had made the structures vanish as if they never were. Time was such a wonderful thing and Q enjoyed contemplating it. All that remained of the village now, was a low ring of a well. Everything else taken, or buried so the forest could be planted on top of it.  
  
Moving from one tree to another, and the cover they gave. Out in the darkness, Q saw two men in combat fatigues. One had started a hose and left the nozzle where Q remembered the edge of the well being. In an almost absent gesture, Q raised the gun and fired, once for each of the two men. He walked passed their bodies, each with a neat bullet hole in their forehead and almost no back to their skulls. They were irrelevant, dead even more so, and Q ignored them as such.  
  
The voice echoing up from the well, drew Q's attention.  
  
“Hurry up, Sherlock. I don't have long,”  
  
Q looked down on the man, at the bottom of the deep tunnel. Watson was shivering, hip deep in water and being rained on by more. Q flicked out his leg, kicking away the hose. Q was now able to make out a small skull held within the doctor's hands. Only the slight raising of an eyebrow betrayed Q's curiosity. There should be nothing in there for John to find. The immediate answer was the skull wasn't that of Sherlock's friend. Time was a factor so Q decided to leave the skull for the police to deal with.  
  
“Sherlock.” came John's haunted voice. “Sherlock, the bones I found,”  
  
“Yes, they're dog's bones.” Sherlock dismissed.  
  
“Mycroft's been lying, Sherlock. Lying to us.” The worried voice echoed out from the well. “There're not dog's bones, it's a... Sherlock? Sherlock!”  
  
Q just stood, having watched the interaction with detached interest.  “Doctor Watson, I presume.”  
  
Jumping in surprise, Watson looked up. “Yes?” He answered, watching the strange man turn and start to climb down the stones that lined the wall. “You are?”  
  
“A man with bolt cutters. Isn't that enough?” Q said and climbed into the water.  
  
Seeing up close the skull the doctor held. It was real, Q could tell that. By the size he judged the age of the child to have been about seven when it died. There were was strange staining, and scratch marks, indicated a ground burial and interference by something like a fox. Rather than the skull having sat in a well and decomposed in water.  
  
Pulling out the bolt cutters from his belt and extending the handles for greater leverage. Q took a breath and ducked under the water. Feeling for the Doctor's legs, Q found the chain around the other man's ankles. It took a bit of work before Q got the first leg free. Breaking the surface, Q took a few breaths before ducking under again.  
  
With John freed. Q broke the surface, whipping his hair to free it of the water. Like many a Double O, Q just left the bolt cutters when no longer needed them. He watched John tuck the skull under his shirt. Q instructed, “Leave it. The police will recover it.”  
  
“Doesn't feel right leaving him here.” John argued.  
  
Q shook his head. The sympathy was an inconvenience now. Q climbed up first, and the doctor followed.  
  
Moving off, Q had to stop when he heard John climb out of the well but remained standing at the edge. When he looked back, John was wrapping the skull in his jacket and leaving it by the well. Q moved off. John catching up a few moments later.  
  
Feeling a yank from the back of his trousers, Q turned to see John aiming the silenced Walther at him. Q mused, “One helicopter, one baddy, two henchmen and two hostages. The helicopter left. The henchmen took one hostage to the well.  The two henchmen were killed during the rescue of one hostage. Leaving one hostage and one baddy. I don't need a bullet to take out the baddy. I only needed two bullets, so I only kept the chambered round and one in the magazine. Pull the trigger if you don't believe me, Dr. Watson.”  
  
Even looking like a drowned rat, the stranger held a calm poise that unnerved John. Given the day. The revelations. The deceptions. The danger. And the games that hand been played. John hesitated but he pulled the trigger. The gun dry fired with a click.  
  
John recognised the look the stranger gave. It was right out of Mycroft's book of facial expressions, for when somebody had been, done or said something particularly stupid.  
  
Q turned and started walking way.  
  
“Are you related to Sherlock?” John called.  
  
“Not officially.” Q answered and pushed on a little harder. The running around bit, not his preferred thing to do. Q picked up the pace when they reached a track. The dryer and more even ground allowed them to move faster.  
  
A flat bridge over a wide stream was the single they were about to emerge from the forest. The trees fell away, and before Q and John was a wide open area. In the distance stood a Victorian country home, of high apex roof and tall brick chimneys, the central part of the roof having caved in to the burned out building.  
  
Amongst the tall grass around the house stood the shipping container. The sides of which had been opened, and lay flat against the ground, leaving a frame with just a roof on top.  
  
Q ran towards the building. Coming to a stop, Q's eyes scanned the grave stones.  
  
“What are you waiting for?” John hissed, in clear worry and concern.  
  
“Someone's changed the inscriptions... Oh I get it!” Q said. Realising the stones had been altered so the nonsense song he had used to push Sherlock on, in trying to find Trevor, now had a meaning. The message pointed to Q's old room. “SHIT!”  
  
Q darted off. Running flat out with John hot on his heels. He entered the already open door and bounded up the stairs of the house he had set fire to when he was a child. He pushed open the door to his old room. He saw the two on the floor hugging. He saw the glint of something in the woman's hand. Behind him John gasped. Sherlock started to pull back. Eurus pushed closer to Sherlock, pulling the knife towards herself and into Sherlock's back.  
  
“Piccolo-fiddlesticks.” Q ordered.  
  
The woman stilled, her knife poised almost penetrating its target. Her glassy eyes stared out blankly. Sherlock pulled back and saw the small white metal bladed knife. He gently twisted it out from the woman's lax grasp.  
  
John rushed in and looked over Sherlock and the catatonic woman. Q watched Sherlock a moment, as he looked over the woman. It was better if he was not part of his bothers' lives, so Q slipped back into the darkness of the landing and quickly fled.  
  
By the time Q got to James' car. The sound of a helicopter was approaching, along with the distant call of sirens.  
  
Q pulled away. Driving as fast as possible, before he stopped about two mile down the road. Killing the engine and lights he then lay down. The blue flashing lights danced over the cockpit. The sirens were deafening as they passed but the police, believing the car was empty and unimportant, didn’t bother to stop.  
  
Once Q was sure the police were gone, he sat up. Starting the car he pulled away. Driving carefully, so he didn't draw the attention of the police helicopter buzzing about.  
  
Arriving back at MI6 he noticed the receptionist press a button when she saw Q. He was surrounded by guards and escorted upstairs. He was shown into Mallory's office, where Lady Smallwood was having a drink and looking far better. James was back too, lazing in a guest chair with a drink in hand.  
  
Mallory stood up. Accusing, “You abandoned your post, Quartermaster. Evaded your security detail...”  
  
Q shrugged. “There was a jamming device. I could do nothing here. By the time I got to the bunker, everything was over. R will confirm I was there.”  
  
“See.” James mused, nursing a drink. “Q would never leave me hanging.”  
  
“There will be an investigation.” M threatened.  
  
James stood and took Q's hand. The two heading out of the office and down the building. James remained quiet, until he was in his car with Q beside him.  
  
“You didn't go to the bunker, did you?” James said.  
  
Q shook his head. “R is friendly. He'll cover for me. And there is no electronic monitoring there. The only thing Mallory can prove is I lost my trail. As I don't have a licence and with my driving being rather reckless, I'm sure I can argue it was just dumb luck that I lost the lamplighters.”  
  
James touched Q's chin, and tipped the other man's face so they were looking at each other. “You did something for Sherlock?”  
  
Q nodded. James gave a smile and faced forward again. The blond started the engine and pulled away. James asked, “For those of us who don't have omnipresence. What did you do?”  
  
Q glanced at the driving man. He talked about the race to Musgrave Hall, saving John then stopping Eurus. A flick of James' bright blue eyes was enough for Q to read the man's thoughts. “You're going to push me to meet with my family.”  
  
“Yep!” James flicked his eyes to the man beside him again. “That toff of a brother. He was shitting himself at the mere thought of you. You have a mother and father and two brothers. You have an amnesty. You could at least tell them you're not a threat.”  
  
Q looked out the window, watching the lights of London pass. “I will consider it.”  
  
“I will run with you, if the toff tries anything. Have you considered, Mallory is the decent sort? I think he will honour the amnesty if you're truthful with him.”  
  
“You're being pedestrian, James.”  
  
“No I'm not. I'm being a nag.”


	7. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading.

“Pianoforte-La-de-da.”

The woman at the far end of the table blinked a few times in response to the softly spoken words. Like she as waking up. Her eyes focused on the lean man, with wild mane of dark hair, and hazel eyes behind heavy framed glasses. Beside the man, upon a tripod was a camera aimed at her.

Leaning forward, and propping her elbow on the table, the woman known as Eurus rested her chin on her fist. “Been a long time, Eurus. You've changed. You were very naughty. I still feel my mind trapped in that plane where you left me.”

Q said, “ For the record. Present are myself, Eurus Holmes, Quartermaster of MI6. And Her Majesty the princess Clara Windom. This debriefing is for the events surrounding the incident codenamed 'His Final Problem.'”

“I didn't do anything, dear Eurus.”

Q asked the princess, “Confirm for the record. You were visited by one James Moriarty. He formed a plan, which you have recently executed.”

The two just looked at each other, form the opposing ends of the long table. Both emotionless. Where Eurus had no ego, the Princess did, so Q started to stroke the woman's.

“A most impressive plan. I'm assuming Mycroft brought Moriarty here, and Moriarty saw something that passed by my brother's notice. That you were not Eurus Holmes. Moriarty freed you of my conditioning...”

In a room, on the other side of the one way glass. James and Tanner stood. Both watching Q conduct the interrogation. James glanced at the man beside him, noticing the tremble Tanner tried to control.

“Are you scared?”

“I've seen this before.” Tanner whispered, his voice also carrying a slight tremor. “The last time. The man Q interrogated tried to split his own head open. Hell, there are times I want to do the same.”

“You sound like the Toff.”

Tanner shook his head, and scrubbed his face with his hand. “Mycroft Holmes is not the type of person you connect with, Bond. God, Q's his brother!”

James put a reassuring hand on Tanner's shoulder. “The one thing this incident proves. When the shit hits the fan, Q will show he is a good man at heart. Time and time again, he helped me. Have you heard some of the stories the other Double Os have?”

Tanner shook his head. James told him to have a quiet, _off the record_ , word with the other Double Os. Tanner interrupted to say, “It's happened.”

James looked to the glass, and the brightly lit room on the other side. The dark haired woman was singing like a canary now.

The fake Eurus' voice came to them through a set of speakers.

“Oh, yes. Jim was so dreamy. So smart. I loved him. I was to play the messages... and break those men. I made Sherlock cry! I was to be Jim's revenge...”

\--

“How could you be so stupid, Mycroft.” The old woman shouted at the seated man. Her husband, still seated beside her cradling his head with the news. Mrs. Holmes couldn't sit with the news of her daughter. Her other son and his friend stood in the corner.

Mycroft said, quietly, “I, and Uncle Rudy did what we thought was best.”

“YOU LIED!”

“Better that, than learn of what she had become.” Mycroft tried to argue. Against his mother, it came out weak.

“Whatever she became. Whatever she is now. She is our daughter.” Came the words of a loving father.

A knock came from the door. Anthea pushed it open. “Sir, Double O Nine and MI6's Quartermaster are here. On an urgent and personal matter.”

“Now is not...” Mycroft trailed off as the blond man barged his way in. Gently sweeping Anthea out the way with his arm and pushing her behind him, to clear a path for the leaner man following the Double O.

With James having made a space for him. Q stepped around the blond. A strange and involuntary feeling came to him while standing between his parents. A part of his mind started analysing the overlapping emotions, without letting them effect him.

“I would like to discuss Eurus Holmes.” Q said. “Are you aware the remains of Victor Trevor were returned to his family, 16 years ago?”

Mycroft was taken aback by the revelation.

John tugged on Sherlock's elbow and nodded to the back of the strange man. Mouthing, “Him.” Sherlock nodded. Understanding the new arrival was the other one there that night.

Mycroft shook off his shock to demand, “Impossible.”

Q pulled out a still photo, of two boys from a security camera. One slightly smaller, with dark hair and the other with blond. Letting Mycroft study the image. Q said, “I'm sure forensics will come back, saying the child's body couldn't have spent decades in the well. Two years at the most. I'm also sure forensics will find cross contamination from the original burial site. Nor will DNA match Trevor. I believe it will match what I suspect to be James Moriarty's actual first victim, Sebastian Moran.”

Q nodded to the picture in Mycroft's hand for good measure. Sherlock came over to take a look at the photo too.

John, with a frown of confusion said, “I met a Colonel Sebastian Moran.”

Q turned to the shorter blond. “An imposter. Originally organising the opium trade for Moriarty, out of Afghanistan. Given you've met him Doctor, and the real Moran was at the bottom of the well. I deduce the imposter Moran to be the next move of Moriarty's game from beyond the grave. The imposter Moran will then be the catalyst for the following move by Moriarty, the exposure of the fake... I wish I had taken note sooner. I would have liked to meet James Moriarty. He had a rather impressive vision of events.”

Q then turned to his bothers. Sherlock had a guarded, studious gaze, which spoke volumes to Q. He was working on the eureka moment when everything fitted into place. Mycroft was a little baffled, which also spoke volumes to Q. The eldest Holmes, was confused by Q's prowess, and wasn't happy he couldn't put two and two together.

Q held out a flash drive to Mycroft. “I interrogated... Eurus.”

“You interrogated- She's catatonic! How?” Mycroft demanded.

“Post hypnotic suggestion.” Sherlock said, with a smirk. “Piccolo-fiddlesticks if memory serves. But the trigger word to wake her up is different from the one to put her under.”

Q smiled. Sherlock was always so brilliant to her eyes.

Mycroft plugged in the drive to his computer. He turned the screen when everyone tried to see. The image showed the woman's face. Her dark hair hanging limply and her steel blue eyes looking out. Q's voice coming from behind the camera called, “Pianoforte-La-de-da.”

They watched Q's interrogation, of the princess and Moriarty's part in all of this, there was no mention of Moran but Q did shock her by saying there was a part two to the plan. And even when the plan was to be implemented, shortly after the next major bad-guy(Moran) had been dealt with by Sherlock and John.

Mycroft ripped the flash drive from the computer. Q's even dulcet deductions, and the psychopath's screaming rage being cut off.

“SHE IS PLAYING YOU!” Mycroft screamed, his chest heaving. His eyes wild and terrified.

Q gave a languid shake of his head. “Tell me Mycroft. During this incident, that woman displayed a desire for revenge, ego, rage, anger, fear, or even joy. Is Eurus capable of such emotions? You once asked Eurus why she cut herself. It took her effort and education to understand and feel pain. Do you think someone like that extended effort to feel and experience malice, when you were no threat to her? Do you think Eurus cares enough about you to contemplate revenge? ”

Mycroft shook his head in silent answer.

“How?” Sherlock asked, his steel blue eyes scanning up and down the lean man.

“How what?” Mycroft demanded.

With a contemptuous snort from Sherlock, he looked between Q and Mycroft. A bit more politely he asked, “Mummy, what colour are my sister's eyes?”

“Well, like mine. Greenish side of hazel.”

Mycroft's brain kicked into gear. He noticed the hazel eyes, so very like the old woman standing beside Q. Then the man's neck, smooth at the front. The rounder hips. The realisation hit Mycroft like a bolt of lightning. He scrambled back, getting caught up in his chair and falling.

A hand cupped Q's cheek and his face was turned to the right. To meet the steel blue eyes of the old man.

“Hi, daddy!”

Q pulled off his glasses. Never truly needing them. They were just used to fool facial recognition systems. His face was turned to the other side and he looked into the face of his mother. The woman not quite believing if the man in front of her was her daughter.

A scrambling made everyone look to Mycroft, who snatched up the desk phone and Sherlock trying to wrestle it out of his brother's hand.

James called attention to himself for the first time. “Don't bother, Mr Holmes. The person known as Q was given an _absolute_ amnesty for crimes both past and present, as of the year 2008. As issued by MI6, and the then Director Dame Olivia Mansfield. As Quartermaster, Q has conducted himself in exemplarily manner. There are nine Double O’s prepared to make sure the amnesty is upheld. Including his partner.”

Mycroft breathed heavily, still on his knees behind the desk. Sherlock pinned the hand with the receiver to the wood, while keeping Mycroft's other hand far from the buttons.

Mycroft begged, “How did you get out?”

“When I got bored I started planning.” Q said. “I conditioned the Princess to be my replacement. Then when Uncle Rudy died, I just walked out on the day of your first visit, Mycroft. I walked right passed you and you didn't notice.”

“When?” Mycroft breathed.

Sherlock boasted, “16 years ago.”

“No, Sherlock.” Q said with a shake of the head. “I arranged the return of Trevor's remains 16 years ago, while incarcerated. I escaped two years after. About fourteen years.”

In the tense and heavy silence that followed. James watched Q discard his emotions, while under the scrutiny of all those around him. The toff, still on his knees behind the desk wore his fear openly. The one who looked like an older and taller Q, was just studying his younger brother.

James cleared his throat and extended his hand to the older woman, “As no one is doing the introductions. Allow me to introduce myself. Bond, James Bond.”

“Oh, yes,” Mrs Holmes said, a bit startled by the blond man with pale intense blue eyes. “My husband Mr Holmes, and I'm...”

“Mrs Holmes, I presume?” James teased, with a twinkle in his eyes. Seeing the woman was being very formal with a stranger.

“Mummy,” Q said. “James, he's my partner.”

“How convenient!” Mycroft spat. “A Double O conditioned...”

“Do shut up, Mycroft.” Sherlock said, to his brother who he still had a firm hold of.

Seeing no nice or easy end to this meeting James said, “Today has been rather revelatory. Mr and Mrs Holmes, would you care to come for Sunday lunch? Let everyone have some time to think. Then we can talk in a more comfortable setting.” James looked to the man in the corner, then the two brothers behind the desk. “You are all welcome to come.”

The door burst open, pin-balling John into James. James bumped into Mr Holmes and Q. Everyone jumped. Mycroft managed to get to his feet when Sherlock got distracted. A frantic Lady Smallwood looked over the packed room, her eyes landing on MI6's Quartermaster. “Oh, I'm interrupting...”

“Mycroft knows who I am.” Q said, deducing the reason for the head of MI5's state.

With a gulp. Smallwood held out her hand, “Well... eh... Eurus, Quarter, Q. A pleasure to finally meet you.”

Q decided to let the point, that they have met before slide. He shook her hand and offered a polite greeting.

Mycroft interrupted, to demand how Smallwood knew what was going on. Before she could answer, Q glanced at his eldest-brother.

“Think Mycroft! I work for MI6. I have just exposed...”

“Lady Smallwood, was briefed by M on who you were. She then ran here to tell me.” Mycroft caught up. Annoyance radiated off him, knowing he was rather slow in comparison to, some.

James caught Q's hand and pulled him close. Reaching into the inside pocket of the other man's ugly mustard spots jacket, James pulled out the Q's wallet. Finding a business card inside, James handed the wallet back over for Q to store it wherever he wished. James then frisked the man again, coming up with the pen he was looking for.

Q complaining, “I'm not a handbag, James.”

“Of course not, love. Handbags don't walk and fill themselves up,” James teased. Giving a soft smile that wrinkled the skin at the edge of his eyes, and made Q blush.

James wrote their address on the back of Q's business card. He gave over the card to Q's mother, who like the rest had been watching the intimate familiarity of the two lovers.

James said to Q's mother, “Come about 12 o'clock, Sunday. Call whenever you want.” The slightly shell shocked woman could just nod.

James then sent a smirk to Mycroft. The one he sent just before he pulled the trigger on a particularly nasty person. “I wouldn't do anything, Q's friends would object to, Mr Holmes.”

Mycroft offered a forced smile in answer, but nothing else.

The first meeting ended stiffly. With just James and Q heading out. Q's parents waving to the strange yet familiar young man and his partner.

Mycroft called in Anthea and issued orders to her and Lady Smallwood both. Making arrangements to go talk to Eurus, the one who he thought to be Eurus, not Q. Sherlock interrupted his brother.

“Is it fear that makes you blind, Mycroft?”

“I am not blinded, brother. But I am afraid.”

“Of a person you have not seen since she was six.” Mrs Holmes said, in a tone that brokered no argument. “One thing is clear. If that man is Eurus. None here know him, not even you Mycroft. He has lived a long time without drawing notice-”

“Sherlock?” Mycroft mused. “Off the top of your head. In say, the last seventy years. How many serial killers have operated for a period of no less than 14 years without being discovered?”

Mrs Holmes held up a hand to stop Sherlock answering. “Mycroft, you are being petulant! On Sunday, we, you included will go see Eurus. We will get to know her, HIM, again. As a family. Do you hear me young man?”

“Yes, mummy.” Mycroft answered, ducking his head as he did so.

“Then we will see you on Sunday, at Eurus and James'” Mrs. Holmes ordered and arm in arm with her husband walked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a family dinner to go. Just an average dinner in the Homles Family, as I thought it would go.


	8. A normal, typical, Holmes dinner. With nothing unusual what so ever. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is the final chapter of my fic. The family reunion continues. A slightly different tone and I hope you like it.
> 
> Thanks for everyone who read, commented and left Kudos. They help a lot.
> 
> Normal service for Seven Ages series commences at the week end.

James took the list from Q and headed out. Q, himself, was using a soft bristled broom on the old wooden floors. Already a rather large pile of dust had built up. Q got the last word before James could vanish.  
  
“I hope you know how this is destroying my security system. Not even I know how to lay down a covering of dust. Did you remember the bags?”  
  
“I love you, but you don't half moan.” James complained and pulled the door closed behind him.  
  
Jumping into the car that now lived in the driveway, James reversed along the narrow lane then out onto the road.  
  
James pulled into the supermarket car park. He really didn't like trolleys, but given the size  of the list to feed seven meant he needed one.  
  
The asparagus, blood orange, potatoes, fresh thyme, shallots, apples were the first. Then came the meat. Sausages for their meat, because stuffing was hard to come by at this time of year. Then bacon, and the biggest chicken the shop had. For the cured salmon there were asterisks and circles around the name of a different shop, and a warning to buy nothing else there. James was impressed, there was not a single shortcut taken by Q for the meal.  
  
After screaming children being ignored by their mothers, old people out for a day trip, and all mixed with the professional crowd who could only do a shopping on the weekend, James' patience was hanging by a thread. Finally he got to the cashier, after the little old lady had a ten minute conversation, ignoring the queue of ten shoppers with something better to do.  
  
“Ya wanna bag?” The cashier asked.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“How many?”  
  
“I don't know... a dozen?”  
  
The girl reached under the till and pulled out the cheap bags. Then scanned them and James was charged 60 pence off the bat. 'So that's why Q told me to take bags.' James realised.  
  
Getting back home, James wondered how his hands could hurt so much from the shopping bags. Q was still complaining and bashing about upstairs, with the occasional sound of a hoover mixed in. He made it to the kitchen and dumped everything down. His fingers had gone red, with bands of white going around them. Working his fingers open and closed, the blood slowly returned to them.  
  
James' eyes landed on a ceramic figurine sitting on the counter. It was bird, grey in colouring with a long speckled tail. His whole being going cold seeing it.  
  
Q came in, his face a little flushed and battling the hoover, brooms, dustpan and the cloths and bottles of cleaning supplies. With unnecessary force he packed everything into the broom-closet by the back door. He slammed the door. He swept his long hair off his face and took several calming breaths.  
  
“Okay?” James asked. Relieved to see the boffin looking like his normal self.  
  
“Some sod invited five people for lunch and didn't bother to do the shopping before hand, just so he could get out of doing the cleaning.” James was about to take a breath to argue, Q interrupted. “Don't give me that nonsense. I can read you like a book, James lazy-arse Bond. God, if Eve spent five minutes with you her crush would be over so bloody fast...”  
  
James ducked his head and took accepted orders. Dressing and stuffing the large chicken as ordered, while Q started caramelising the apples for the Tarte Tatin. For the meal, Q had prepared the big Aga range. Q then got James to lay the oval table. Demanding military perfection from the blond. James decided to break out a ruler to make sure the place settings were precise, to the millimetre.  
  
Noting the time, Q had a sneaking suspicion regarding his parents. With an hour before the first guest was scheduled to arrive, Q came out of the kitchen, at the rear of the house and into the large lounge at the front. Standing at the bay window then moving to the other, he saw what he expected. A classic 1940’s burgundy Rolls Royce. The two elderly visitors looked like they had been waiting for some time. Apparently, they wanted to arrive as soon as possible but realised they were very early. Too early to knock on the front door.  
  
“Mummy and Daddy are early.” Q shouted and headed for the door.  
  
The moment Mrs Holmes saw her son coming down the garden path, she knew the jig was up. Flinging the door open she stood, just as her son came through the gate.  
  
Stiffly she said, “Your home looks lovely.”  
  
Q glanced back at the house, mostly obscured by trees and large bushes. “I like it. Better since James moved in.”  
  
Q invited his parents in. He offered them a seat in the lounge, but given their earliness, Mr and Mrs Holmes wished to join their son and his partner in the kitchen.  
   
Mr Holmes took a seat at the laid table. Mrs Holmes, saw the blood oranges, eggs, and butter sitting beside a blender and a small pot. She went over and without invitation started to make the Sauce Maltaise. Prompting, she said. “Mycroft says you work for MI6?”  
  
Chatting while they worked, allowed them to all talk without the uncomfortable sitting, and without the confrontational staring at each other. Desperately grasping for topic after topic, the conversations came a little easier while all worked.  
  
“Get your backside back here!” Q snapped. James, stopped, almost getting to sit down for a moment.  
  
“Oh leave him.” Mrs Holmes said to her son.  
  
James sat, at the head of the table, offering a glass of wine to Mr Holmes on his right. While basking in his victory, a large oven pan landed in front of him. Then a bag of potatoes and two paring knives. Mrs Holmes ordered, “Make yourselves useful, start peeling!”  
  
The two men started to peel and fill the large pan with the potatoes to be roasted.  
  
Q started counting down from ten, as he reached zero there came three sharp raps from the front door. “James, see Mycroft in.”  
  
James stood, sharply, stamped a foot and gave a perfect salute. “SIR, yes sir.”  
  
Mr Holmes hid his smirk, while Q and his mother sent James matching unimpressed looks.  
  
The blond went to the door and returned with Mycroft a moment later. Mr Holmes saying, “Have a seat, Mycroft.”  
  
Q's mother whispered to him, “The last person you want in the kitchen is Mycroft. He just takes over.” She then took the horseradish from her youngest and added an extra dollop to the mayonnaise before tasting it and adding two more spoonfuls.  
  
Shortly after Mycroft, who arrived precisely on time, Sherlock and John knocked the door. The last thing before sitting down for the starter, Q made a roux which would be added to the pan juices of the chicken to make a gravy.  
  
Sending his mother to take her place at the table. Q plated up the starter. Nothing needing to be cooked for it. James ferried the plates to the table for him.  
  
Mrs. Holmes looked down at the salmon, done in the dill cure for it to become Gravlax. Accompanied by dark and dense rye bread, and a piped flower of mayonnaise and horseradish sauce. “You remember.”  
  
Q nodded. “You made it for every Sunday lunch.”  
  
With the first bite, Mr Holmes mused. “You even remembered to buy Marks & Spencer Gravlax.”  
  
“I cure my own Gravlax.” Mrs Holmes said, glaring at her husband. “To suggest such a thing...insulting.”  
  
There was a soft smile on Mrs. Holmes' face. The siblings weathering the old banter, when everyone knew Mrs Holmes bought her salmon. John and James just looking between the two bantering parents.  
  
_Du, du-di-du_  
  
Everyone, but for Q looked down. To the source of the thudding noise coming from beneath the floorboards. James called to Q in question. John, thinking hard, mused, “I know that sound.”  
  
James called Q's name again. Q answered, “Just a delivery, James. Must have fallen over.”  
  
“A delivery?”  
  
“From your step brother.” Q glared slightly.  
  
Giving an aborted choke. James straightened up. Very coolly, “When did it arrive?”  
  
“Just after you went to the shops.”  
  
_Du, du-du-du._  
  
The thudding similar but not quite the same as before. Also coming from a slightly different angle.  
  
“I definitely know, OWE!” John jumped and glared at Sherlock. “Why did you stamp on my foot?”  
  
“I thought it was a cat.” Sherlock, tried to shrug off, but none bought it. Least of all Mycroft.  
  
_Du, du-di-du._  
  
“Oh this is getting ridiculous.” Q complained. “Ikea is getting a strongly worded letter.”  
  
“Bomb! A letter-bomb. You left off bomb at the end of that sentence, I think.” Mycroft taunted. Mrs Holmes reprimanded him on his manners.  
  
John had a look of dawning comprehension. Which turned scandalised, so glared at Sherlock.  
  
Knowing something as up. Mycroft had a far off look. His eyes absently scanned around the kitchen.  
  
James tried to talk to Q's parents, and with Sherlock's help they made a valiant attempt to continue the Sunday lunch. Q just knowing any second now another thumping would come and Mycroft would finally twig.  
  
_Du, du-di-du._  
  
Mycroft was up and moving. His umbrella in hand. Mrs. Holmes called him back to the table, which Mycroft ignored. He ripped open the hall cupboard. He scanned the shelf lined walls a moment. Pushing on the back wall, then side he found the concealed stairs he was looking for. Quickly he headed down into the darkness below the house.  
  
With thundering heart, Mycroft felt for the light switch. Feeling the nub sticking out of the wall, he flipped it up. The cellar was bathed in harsh fluorescent light. Along the right wall, one by one the large hooks had slowly bent and gave way. Dumping the bodies onto the floor.  
  
Q passed his brother. Fingering the large, bent, hook. “'Max. supported weight 100Kilos' my arse!”  
  
“I knew I recognised the sound.” John said, with a dopey smile. “Just like the time an orderly dropped a body-bag.”  
  
“It's true.” Mrs Holmes looked on her youngest with growing horror. All her children, and their partners stood around four bodies. The dead men with their a belt brought around their chest to make a makeshift loop to hang the bodies up with.  
  
James was about to speak up when Sherlock, who was inspecting the bodies rattled off, “Delta Force, 45 years old, held by... not Muslim but some form of terrorist group. Torture scars indicate techniques more common to the far east, Yakuza or Triad most likely.” Moving to the next body. “Royal Marine...”  
  
“Sherlock, not the time.” Mr Holmes said.  
  
“Yes it is, Daddy. Mycroft is already arranging Q's incarceration. Completely overlooking the assassins were sent by James' 'step brother'.”  
  
Everyone looked to Mycroft, who had a suspicious hand in his pocket. The hidden fingers of which were pulling and flexing the silk of the trouser leg.  
  
“I just wanted a family lunch. Like we used to have.” Mrs Holmes sobbed and stormed up the stairs. Mr Holmes asked if they were proud of themselves and went up to see to his wife.  
  
Sherlock stepped up to James, looking down on the shorter man, but it was Mycroft, he was truly watching. “I am unfamiliar with the octopus tattoo. Although a septepus, would be the technically correct description.”  
  
Mycroft lifted his chin and looked away. “The origin of octopus is Greek, Sherlock. Heptapus, is the word you're looking for.”  
  
Sherlock accusing asked, “Come now Mycroft. Who are the _Septepus?_ ”  
  
James answered, “I was briefly fostered by Hannes Oberhauser the father of Ernst Stavro Blofeld. For a time we were like brothers. And Mycroft, Q has an amnesty which you will honour.”  
  
Mycroft only heard James absently. His eyes had gone to the baby-bath sized jelly pan sitting on a single large free standing gas burner connected to a propane tank. The preserving jars, and all the expected paraphernalia of a keen preserve and jam maker. But nothing looked like it had been used.  
  
Seeing what Mycroft was looking at. A memory of something Q had said came back to James. “Q call Tanner.”  
  
“But if I don't send a message, Blofeld won't understand...” Q trailed off. James just looked at him, taking no argument.  
  
Q plodded upstairs, hearing his brothers and James still talking. Mostly Sherlock and James trying to stop Mycroft from having him imprisoned.  
  
Hearing he parents talking softly, Q stepped into the kitchen. They fell silent. Q first picked up the cordless phone wanting his parents to hear as much as they could.  
  
When Tanner answered, Q said, “There's been an attempt on my life. Four Spectre agents... No Tanner, it was me. I don't need James to protect me... Yes, it was self defence. They had intentions to kill. An ex-Delta Force, Royal Marine, one west African mercenary without formal training, And one French special forces. All have a Spectre tattoos... Okay, see you then.”  
  
When Q hung up, although he had his back to his parents he knew they were watching him. Without looking back he said, “Mycroft is right. If I so chose I can feel nothing. I killed those men easily,”  
  
“They were coming to kill you?” his father asked. Almost pleading for a justification. Which Q decided to give.  
  
“Yes,” Q said. Keeping to himself, he could kill the next door neighbour or everyone at the local school with just as much detached ease. Only a conscious choice stopped him. “I was only a means to an end though. James has a stalker who targets his partners, everyone he grows close to in fact. I am one of the few James could safely be with, because anyone, anything sent after me I can deal with.”  
  
Q came to sit across from his parents. “I have done many bad things. The truth is, only by choice will I not do them again. My emotions do not work like most people but I do experience them. I love James, he loves me and for him I will be good. I'd like to reconnect with Sherlock and you. Mycroft's a pretentious ass, but even him.”  
  
The bickering voices of the others slowly got louder, as the came up from the basement and returned to the kitchen. James and Sherlock exchanging deranged bad-guy speeches they had been subjected to. Q said to all, “M and Tanner are on their way.”  
  
Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “You actually called in those bodies?”  
  
“Yes, Mycroft.” Mrs Holmes snapped. “Your brother has informed the authorities. And explained himself.”  
  
“I think the chicken is done.” Mr Holmes mused, pushing himself up. His wife moved to help. The two telling the others to sit, while they dealt with the main course.  
  
When there was chapping of the front door, James stood to go answer it. His voice reached the kitchen, explaining to whoever had arrived the bodies were in the basement. Then there was the sound of several people heading for the basement stairs.  
  
Alone, Eve sauntered into the kitchen. Her hips swaying and her eyes locked on Q. “Have we been a naught little Quartermaster?”  
  
“James invades an embassy, in front of the world's media. And everyone laughs it off. I take out four Spectre agents and it's like I'm Genghis Khan, Pol Pot and Jack the Ripper combined.”  
  
Eve came over and hugged him. Q returning the gesture. “You know I love ya, Q.”  
  
Mallory and Tanner came in, both dressed in similar faded jeans and formal button up shirts without ties. On their day off, the picture of the worst fashion crime of middle age.  
  
Mallory cast his eyes about the room. Knowing one of Q’s guests first hand, and another by reputation. The old woman at the hob demanded, “Eurus, are you not going to introduce us to your friends?”  
  
Q stood, introducing everyone, finishing by asking, “Will you be staying for lunch?”  
  
“Loved to.” Eve said without false politeness.  
  
Mallory started with the, we wouldn't want to impose speech. While Tanner went down the, isn't this a family lunch route.  
  
“Mycroft!” Mrs Holmes barked, taking no argument. “Plates are in that cupboard. Three places.”  
  
“Of course, Mummy.”  
  
Mrs Holmes looked to the two men still standing by the door. The woman having taken a place beside her son. “Least we can do is feed you for bringing you out on your day off, gentlemen.”  
  
Mallory tried to keep a straight face while the annoyance without real position or title was ordered about. Taking a seat, still watching Mycroft, he said to Q, “You will need to go for debriefing, Quartermaster. But given what happened to Madeleine Swann, I wouldn't see much happening. Especially if we can confirm a link between those men and Spectre.”  
  
“See, Mycroft?” Mr Holmes snapped, from where he was carving the large roast. “Your sister, BROTHER isn't a monster.”  
  
While Mycroft gave a tight smile in answer to his father. Eve heard the slipped word and looked to Q. Q gave her a nod. She slapped his arm, “You're a dark horse, Q.”  
  
Mycroft muttered, “You have no idea.”  
  
“Mycroft!” Mr Holmes snapped. “Enough of your cheek. If you can't say something nice, say nothing at all.”  
  
Tanner catching up, needed confirmation, Q had been born a woman.  
  
Just as the main course was being plated and brought to the table. James appeared, saying the bodies had been shipped off to the morgue. He took his seat, seeing three more places had been added to the table.  
  
The food was being slowly eaten. The wine shared and sipped, Mycroft, Tanner, Sherlock and Mr Holmes debating over the bouquet and analysing the grape variety and region. Eve, unimpressed that most of Q's life was in fact rather boring had quickly changed topic to his skills.  
  
“One thing.” Sherlock suddenly called. “Blofeld, why doesn't he just go for James?”  
  
“Really Sherlock, even I can work that one out.” Mycroft mused. “Infatuation becomes obsession.”  
  
James looked around in confusion. Demanding to know what the brothers were talking about. Q spoke before anyone else could. “Blofeld's obsession with you, indicates he is in love with you.”  
  
Eve choked. Catching her nose, to stop the wine spraying out of it. Mallory decided to look away. Tanner was curious.  
  
Q added, “To Blofeld, everyone loves you, James, even him. Given Oberhauser wanted you to be brothers, Blofeld's feelings had to be repressed, becoming a corrupted and dangerous thing. He admits to being jealous but not of you. He was jealous of his own father, who could freely show his love because there was no ulterior motive to it. Blofeld was jealous of his father, so killed him. Blofeld was jealous of everyone you grew close to, because none of them were him. He wants you to be as obsessed with him as Blofeld is with you. Probably has some fantasy, of you both dying in some big and grandiose fashion.”  
  
Sherlock chuckled. John mused, “Sounds a bit like Moriarty.”  
  
Q nodded. “Like children in a school yard. The only way the boys can get the girls they like to notice them is by being obnoxious little bullies that can't be ignored.”  
  
“We should start a support group.” James said to Sherlock. “Deranged Supervillains Anonymous.”  
  
“That would imply we are the deranged supervillains.” Sherlock pointed out. James retorting, Sherlock didn't know how to interpret a joke.  
  
Mr and Mrs Holmes glanced at each other, then looked around the table, which had gone back to having several smaller conversations. Their eldest son was talking with Mallory and Tanner. Their middle son and his friend talked with their youngest's partner. And their youngest son talked with the only other woman at the table.  
  
“You got your family meal, Violet.”  
  
“That I did, Siger. And _everyone_ is here.”


End file.
